About a Girl
by CupcakeCute
Summary: When the Watchers' Council intervenes in her life, Buffy finds herself living on Cleveland's Hellmouth. Slaying vampires, rebelling against her controlling Watcher, and clinging desperately to any semblance of a normal life keeps her going until she finds what she needs in the last place she would have expected. Buffy's story from the Wishverse. Spike/Buffy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story takes place in the alternate universe created during Season 3's _The_ _Wish_. It begins slightly later in Buffy's sophomore year than _Welcome to the Hellmouth_ did and continues through to _The Wish. _Spike/Buffy pairing.

This story is new territory for me Buffy-wise (Somewhat AU, very few appearances of my beloved Scoobies, etc), but I had a serious desire for a backstory for Wishverse!Buffy and to explore what may have been happening with Wishverse!Spike, so the plot bunny (as well as my inner shipper) would not leave me be until I wrote it.

I want to give a shout out to my fantastic beta All4Spike. Thank you so much for your help and attention to detail, I couldn't have done it without you.

If you could, please take the time to review and let me know what you think of the story.

**Warnings: **Rated for Character Death—it _is_ the Wishverse after all—as well as for adult themes and some sexual situations. There is also temporary Spike/Other (the other here being Dru).

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This chapter contains some dialogue adapted from _Welcome to the Hellmouth_ written by Joss Whedon.

* * *

Chapter 1

_I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale. _

Buffy Summers leaned her head against the bus window, breathing softly so that it fogged on contact with the cool glass. She smiled and drew a heart on the patch of condensation before crossing it through, broken.

Staked.

Her fingers fell to toy with the volume of her Discman, raising it to drown out the wailing of a red-faced toddler in the seat behind her, who was unwilling to eat the Cheerios his mother had packed. A bright and cheery top forty hit burst into her ears, blocking out the unwelcome noise, but her thoughts were still free to wander, unaffected by the music's chipper mood.

What would it be like, living so far from home? When was her mother finally going to move to Cleveland with her? There had to be a job there for Joyce, Buffy was sure she could find one. Until then, she would be stuck in a house with her new Watcher, and who knew what they would be like? Would the schedule just be: find vampire, stake vampire, victory dance, next? And what if there was a new threat, somewhere else in the world? Would the Council just pick her up and fling her to a new city every time local demons got antsy?

_Is this my life now? _Buffy wondered as they rolled into the city. Her head swam with too many questions, each fighting and clawing its way to the top of her mind and demanding her attention.

Cleveland, Ohio was a far cry from the sunny, cramped streets of Los Angeles. This afternoon it was overcast and the scent of rain was heavy in the air. There were plenty of people about, strolling leisurely and enjoying their Saturday. The sweltering heat of L.A. and its crowds swarming with people from every walk of life had never felt so far away. Not until this moment. Buffy felt she had moved countries rather than cities. Continents even.

Her suitcase was on the rack above her and a small drawstring purse sat in her lap. She fished around its contents for a piece of gum and popped it in her mouth. Mint exploded on her tongue, cold as her unfamiliar surroundings.

Her parents were still in L.A., still divorced. She would be with one of them now if it wasn't for one small detail. _My destiny, _she thought.

This last year had been the ride of her life. She'd learned the truth of the world and had grown up quickly to accommodate it. Vampires were real, as were most of the other nasty things that lay waiting in closets and beneath your bed. It was up to Buffy to stop them.

_Up to me, _she thought, _into every generation a Slayer is born…_

She shifted in her seat, almost reluctant to think about her uncomfortable reality. She was the Slayer, as in _the_. The one and only Chosen to stop the vampires, the demons—_the blah blah blah, _Buffy thought. It wasn't a joking matter; she knew what she was capable of. In Los Angeles alone, she had staked and ignited and beheaded many unlucky vamps, even one who'd called himself a King; Lothos. There was a rush that came with that kind of strength, a heady feeling of power. Strange to have so much of it, and absolutely no control over her life.

She'd had no choice in coming to Cleveland. Buffy was summoned, as if to the court of the Queen of freaking England. The Watchers' Council had grown desperate and sent for her. _A multitude of demons in the Cleveland area, uprising, potentially chaotic, yada yada yada, _Buffy thought.

The woman chosen to be her new Watcher lived in Cleveland, on the mouth of Hell, the letters had said, and Buffy would live there too. Did her parents have to be so pleased when they read the letter stating that Buffy had been accepted into a prestigious private school, complete with housing until a parent could make the move?

_I guess anyone with a daughter fresh out of the loony bin would jump at the chance to get her chock full of sanity, _Buffy thought_. _

Now she was on her way to a new life, new school, and a new Watcher. Mom and Dad had been a bit hesitant about letting her leave, to Buffy's hope and relief, but those persistent fake letters sent by the Watchers finally got them on board with the idea. She promised to call nightly, and she would. Mom would be moving soon too and Dad was staying in Los Angeles. Despite everything that had happened—_the institution—_Buffy missed her mother. Dad too, in a way. After the things he had done, the ways that he had ruined everything with his disappearing in the middle of the night, his cheating, his yelling, Buffy missed him too.

_I just want things to be the way they used to, _Buffy thought.

But they never would.

Maybe it was for the best that she got away. Things had been tense at home. Between the divorce and that brief stint in that mental institution, brought on by her parents' concern, Buffy was ready for change. More than change; she wanted to forget about destiny and power and control. She wanted to go out with her friends, to get back into the swing of things at school. Something hopeful and happy still beat within her chest, something that wanted boys, cheer, and friends. The total high school experience. She was ready to be Buffy Summers again, not Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

_Maybe I can quit, _she thought.

But she knew it was impossible.

She was signed on for life—a very short life—and she hadn't even volunteered.

The bus was slowing, bouncing on a speed bump before pulling up to the curb and halting with a creak before the roadside stop.

"Cleveland here I come," Buffy said, stashing her Discman in her purse and standing to pull her heavy suitcase from the rack above.

She wandered the streets quietly, her eyes always returning to the high rises of the Cleveland skyline. There were well dressed people and poorly dressed people walking around. They seemed friendly enough. Just people really, but in a different sort of way than in Los Angeles. Either way, this was unfamiliar territory.

_No demons running around, getting their demon jollies, _Buffy thought. All that "mouth of Hell" stuff the Council had sent her in clandestine letters had Buffy expecting something scary and slimy on every corner. She frowned with a pang of apprehension; she could use a good slay right about now.

Buffy wandered closer to the heart of the city. The buildings rose above her and made her feel small. Back home she had liked the feeling of walking beneath skyscrapers. Here it felt as if the city was trying to swallow her whole. Everywhere she turned there was something new and people shopping or driving by. Buffy received a couple of greetings from passersby on the streets. To each she muttered a soft "hello", but kept walking, distrustful, and caught her next bus.

It was a reasonably short walk from the bus stop to the house on Sycamore Lane where her new Watcher lived—where Buffy would live until her mom arrived—very near Lake Erie. The houses were of a different sort than the modern craftsman-style home she had lived in with her family. Here, there was dark wood and garden gates, shutters and stone chimneys. The neighborhood so completely embodied the Watchers' tastes that Buffy stifled a humorless laugh.

"5562 Sycamore," Buffy whispered, her eyes darting along the address numbers. She found the house. It was more wide than tall, two stories high, with a stone wall, iron gate, and leafy trees surrounding it. The windows were dark and grated beneath the slate gray tiling of the roof, more Gothic than Middle America.

"Honey, I'm home," Buffy said aloud.

Her humor was fleeting. Buffy swallowed with a convulsive gulp. Her mouth felt too dry. She knew that once she entered that building, a piece of her would be left behind. She couldn't be a sunny bunny or a valley girl. She would have to be a Slayer.

The gate creaked in protest to her strength as she pushed it open and Buffy's nerve began to leave her as she walked up that stony path. _I'm Buffy, I'm Buffy, _she thought, but her heart pounded, "Slay-er, Slay-er", with every beat.

At last she reached the door. It was imposing; dark and wooden, with twin intricately carved vases flanking it. And there was a door knocker. An honest to God door knocker in the shape of a little devil's face.

"Could you guys be any more passé?_" _Buffy muttered, unable to keep from rolling her eyes as she knocked.

She waited a moment, tapping her foot, making sure she looked as displeased and petulant as possible. _They should know who they're messing with, _Buffy thought. After a moment she heard footsteps lightly clomping against wooden floorboards inside.

The door opened. A severe looking woman stared down at her over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "Miss Summers," she said in cool greeting.

"Oh, hey," Buffy said, popping her gum and raising a hand in acknowledgement.

Telling by the small tick in the woman's cheek in response to her casual reply, Buffy knew she'd started on the wrong foot. She swallowed her gum with a gulp and an apologetic smile.

"I'm Madelynn Davies, your new Watcher," the woman stated in that same cold tone.

_Greetings from the Ice Queen, _Buffy thought.

She was in her fifties at least, her face only beginning to line and mostly by her mouth. How she had gotten those faint creases, Buffy couldn't imagine. From the steely grey of her eyes, to the slight downturn in the corners of her lips, and the tight bun of ash blond hair at the back of her neck, Buffy had never seen anyone less likely to bear the marks of too many smiles. She wore a grey cardigan and matching skirt with sensible shoes, nothing like the casual clothing Buffy was used to seeing on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Sometimes she and her mother had liked to wear their pajamas.

"We are having a lazy day in," Joyce would say as grey clouds swirled outside. Then she and Buffy would curl up on the couch with junk food galore and watch the classics. _Stowaway, _and that _Ice Capades _tape that was almost worn to pieces, along with some of the better teen movies of all time, each starring Molly Ringwald. It was the whole Mom and Buffy rainy day video package. They would—

Buffy pushed those thoughts away. They would only make this harder.

"Please, do come in," Ms. Davies said, ushering her inside the small foyer.

Buffy ventured into the house, well aware of the disapproving look she earned at the sight of her knee-high boots, miniskirt, purse, and the butterfly clip holding back her hair.

Ms. Davies surveyed her with a hawk-like gaze as Buffy took in her new surroundings. Her suitcase lay forgotten beside the front door as she wandered further inside. _It's like Watchers R Us, _Buffy decided. There were candles mounted on the dark wood of the walls. Exotic potted plants in expensive looking ceramic stood at each side of the door, and a Persian rug lay on the floor before her. It was so different. Buffy found herself aching to be back home with their mismatched furniture and television and modern colored wallpaper.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Summers?" Ms. Davies asked. Buffy followed her down a short hall and through a carved wooden archway into a living area. Bookshelves lined the walls and two comfortable looking couches, like something from the Victorian era, sat before a dormant fireplace.

"I'm not really a tea kind of girl," Buffy said with a shrug, still drinking in the reality of her surroundings. Quickly she added, "Thanks though."

"Coffee then?"

"Coffee's fine," Buffy said, although she didn't like it much better than tea if she was being honest. Maybe with a lot of sugar.

"Please sit," Ms. Davies said. "I'll be back momentarily."

"Okay," Buffy said.

Ms. Davies had left her alone. Buffy wandered into the room and studied the dark curtains covering tall windows and shelves lined with books titled in demon languages. Her heart sunk. This place was the embodiment of everything she was trying to run from. Buffy flopped down on one of the old-fashioned couches. It was stiff and the upholstery was rough against her bare thighs. She shifted, trying to find some comfort.

The kitchen door swung back open. Ms. Davies strode over, the blunt heels of her shoes clicking on the hardwood floors in short sharp taps.

"Coffee, Miss Summers," she announced, a bit uselessly, and set the tea-tray laden with two steaming cups, sugar, and cream.

"Thanks," Buffy said, reaching for hers. She immediately dropped in at least five sugar cubes and took a sip. Still too bitter. Buffy went for the sugar bowl again.

Ms. Davies stared on with that hawk-like gaze, disapproving and quietly observational. It made Buffy uncomfortable. She put one last cube in her cup and sipped it, giving her new Watcher a reassuring smile and a salute with the sugar tongs. She tried to look satisfied, despite the lingering bitterness. _Coffee, Miss Summers? Tea, Miss Summers? God, don't these people ever just have soda? _Buffy thought.

"Miss Summers," Ms. Davies began, pushing her spectacles up her nose. "I trust that you understand what your responsibilities will be now that you've arrived. I will train you hard and I will train you thoroughly. Your last Watcher was Merrick Jamison-Smythe, is that correct?"

The sugared coffee seemed to stick in Buffy's throat at the mention of that name. She nodded. "Yeah, Merrick…Merrick was my Watcher."

"I'm sorry to hear what became of him. He was a good man, an unconventional Watcher, but talented. It's a shame to have lost him."

Her tone was so businesslike and could almost be called blithe if not for the lack of anything resembling a positive human emotion. It made Buffy feel even further out of place.

"As has been explained to you, Cleveland is on a Hellmouth," Ms. Davies said. She reached for her own cup of coffee and put in a single splash of cream before swirling it beneath her nose and taking a dainty sip. "The Hellmouth draws in a myriad of supernatural creatures, things of darkness, death. And in doing so—"

"The people here need a protector, the Chosen One, one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires. Yeah, I've covered this already," Buffy finished for her, not bothering to hide the hints of bitterness and sarcasm in her voice.

"Then you understand the seriousness of what you must do," Ms. Davies said. She replaced her coffee cup on its saucer with a clink that sounded like a warning. "Do you understand?"

Buffy swallowed and looked up from her shoes to meet Ms. Davies' eyes. She held her gaze and answered, "Yes."

"Excellent. Now, we have enrolled you in a local private school. Merrick's records indicate that you do well in that environment rather than being instructed here by your Watcher, as is most traditional. However, due to my personal convictions there will be some restrictions to your activities outside slaying. First rule, you will arrive here at 3:30 each and every school day, half an hour after you are released, unless otherwise indicated by myself or in the event of a situation related to your slaying, is that clear?"

"Um, sorry Madel—_Ms. _Davies. What about cheer?" Buffy asked. She had been hoping to return to it and get her high-flying kicks from more than just slaying vampire pests. When Ms. Davies only gave her a steely gaze in response, Buffy continued, "You know 'cheer', as in 'leading'? That thing that I used to do, back when life was normal?"

_And happy._

"Completely out of the question," Ms. Davies replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "That is the second rule. No extracurricular activities. It will already be difficult enough completing your homework as well as keeping up with your slaying duties, but other commitments will only distract from your calling. No, Miss Summers, I think it best to remain focused on the important things. Frivolous fancies will pass you by, but your calling will always be there."

"They put that one on posters?" Buffy asked sourly.

"No, I don't believe they do," Ms. Davies said, all serious business. Her voice was as cool and as smooth as steel. "I trust that you'll remember it in any case, inspirational wall hangings aside."

Buffy grit her teeth and held back the urge to protest. She crossed her arms and sat back on the couch; all teenage attitude. Good first impressions be damned. "Fine. What are your _other _rules?"

"The third is that no one outside this home is to know about your calling. I trust you have been keeping the secret."

"Well…" Buffy trailed off. _Pike knows, _she thought, _and maybe some of the kids who saw the gym burn down. _"One person knows," she confirmed. "Just one. My ex."

Ms. Davies eyebrows disappeared into her tight hairline. "You told a fleeting high school romance—?"

"Hey, he's all with the side of good and everything. You know, fighting the fight?" Buffy said. "He's in Vegas, or at least he was…Look, we broke up and he kills demons now. Are we good?"

Ms. Davies shuddered as if disgusted. "I suppose," she said coldly.

"Great, that's settled then. Are there any more rules here at Watcher Central or can I please go to sleep?" Buffy asked with growing impatience.

"Just one," Ms. Davies said. "And unfortunately, Miss Summers, it will prevent you from going to sleep just yet."

* * *

Buffy stalked through the graveyard, stake in hand, senses alert. Even so, she was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. Everything in this neighborhood's cemetery was fancy mausoleums and towering gravestones. To top it off, a small Gothic Revival church in dull stone bordered the graveyard. She half expected to see elderly socialite vamps in costume jewelry mulling around, but mostly she had just been staking guys in football jerseys and baseball caps.

"You must go patrolling, Miss Summers. There are vampires about, Miss Summers. It is your destiny, Miss Summers," she mocked in what she knew was a pretty poor excuse for an English accent. Another vamp flew at her, yelling a battle cry and announcing his presence. She staked him, barely glancing up as he crumbled to dust.

Buffy made a noise of frustration and kicked the nearest tree, sending a shower of leaves spiraling to the ground. "Ugh!"

A second soft growl behind her brought a smile to Buffy's lips.

"Little girl, so far from home," a gruff voice said.

Buffy spun to see the vampire behind her. He was big and bulky, a bandana tied around his head, holding back a shaggy mop of eighties horror-hair, and a patched denim jacket tight on his shoulders.

"Great, this is just great. The Hair Metal undead," Buffy grumbled under her breath.

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you," Head-banger growled.

"Oh look, first vamp of the night not in sportswear," Buffy said sweetly to his face. "Although, I can't say that you're much of an improvement."

"Nice skirt," he sneered.

Buffy glanced down at her shimmery miniskirt and back up to his denim ensemble. "You're criticizing _my_ fashion sense?"

He was going down.

The vampire merely laughed and lunged for her, all brute strength and big body. Buffy dodged him easily, exchanging two half-hearted blows before she staked him. His eyes met hers in wide surprise, shifting back into his human face before he exploded.

Another vampire leapt out from the shadows and met the pointy end of the stake. These newbies sure were noisy.

Buffy hummed in satisfaction, twirling the stake between her fingers. Killing things may not be the _life_ she wanted, but damn if it didn't help her deal.

A hiss to the right of her had Buffy smirking.

"Hi there, I'm Buffy," she said, turning and throwing her stake. It struck the vampire through the heart, his eyes bulging before he burst. "You're dust."

Two more soft noises of approaching predators made her eyes roll. They came into view, dusting the freshly turned soil from their shoulders, their hair wet with dew.

"God, do you guys ever consider staying in the ground? Just to mix things up, I mean," Buffy said in mock-suggestion.

They growled in response.

"Slayer!" one of them hissed. "Prepare to die."

Buffy raised her stake and said, "You might as well beat me to it."

The vampires seemed to see something in her eyes that frightened them and hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was a fraction enough. Buffy lurched for them with an eagerness that surprised her. In a moment, she was shaking their dusty remains from her shoulders. Six vamps and it was only midnight.

"Geez, these Cleveland bloodsuckers are neck-happy," Buffy said aloud, rubbing her shoulder where she'd taken a punch.

Something told her that it wasn't even the last of them yet. This was gonna be a very long night.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please read and review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains some dialogue adapted from _Welcome to the Hellmouth_ written by Joss Whedon.

Thanks to everyone who has followed, made a favorite, or reviewed. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts so far.

Betaed by the incredible All4Spike. Thanks once again for all of your help and encouraging words.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 2

School had always been something that Buffy was good at. Not the books, pencils, and paper part of school. In Los Angeles, she had been a B minus average. Slaying had also put her a bit behind in the whole 'showing up' field. But the other parts, the _fun_ parts, where there were cute guys, and after game parties while dancing the night away, and hanging out with your best friends in the quad at lunch time and gossiping about the cuteness of some boy of the week…

In those parts she got all A's.

Buffy felt almost hopeful as she walked to school. The Monday morning was overcast and a little humid, but pleasantly cool. It wasn't at all like May in California where it felt like the sun was trying to cook you alive and serve you up extra crispy. Buffy was just grateful to be out of the house for purposes beyond a sacred destiny. She was surprised that Ms. Davies—aka, the Watcher with the world's biggest stick up her butt—had allowed her to do this one non-Slayer related thing without supervision. _I could almost run away, _Buffy thought with a longing glance toward the distant highway, _it would be so easy…_

No, she had to stay, no matter how much she wanted to take her life into her own hands. _Mom might move soon, _Buffy thought. _Then I can move out of Watcherville and get back some tiny semblance of normal in the supernatural circus that is my life. _Deep inside, she understood that she was the One and Only Chosen. The single girl in the entire world who could do the things she did.

_No pressure or anything, _she thought with a frown.

Terminal High, home of the Cleveland Grays—_What kind of mascot…? Wait, it's not even worth figuring out—_looked big and old and boring with its gray stone and complex architecture, nothing like Hemery. At her old school there had always been so much going on. Valley girls and skater boys, punks, Goths, and slackers were everywhere, all lounging in the California sun. Here there were only a few students wandering around, looking burnt out from the weekend, but most were inside already. Buffy stood in the shadow of a clock rising from the school like the bell tower of a church. A warning bell rang and the lingering students took off for the entrance.

"Huh, very punctual," Buffy said.

It was still worth a shot, even though she was starting just two weeks before the semester's end. With the ways things were at Chez Watcher, maybe this was the only place she could be happy. These two weeks were her chance.

Ms. Davies had told her that the Council had picked the school personally and Buffy was starting to realize why. Everyone looked so prim, so proper. Yes, it was a private school, but did it have to be so sophisticated? What happened to high schools that felt like…high schools? It seemed as though everyone in Cleveland whose parents earned six figures attended Terminal. The minute she entered, Buffy could feel their eyes on her with weird looks all around. She ignored them and pushed through the throng of chattering students towards the front office.

A plump woman with purple framed glasses and a perm straight out of nineteen eighty-eight sat behind the front office desk. She was speaking kindly to a frantic looking auburn haired girl. A crowd of unruly looking boys snickered in a small group nearby.

"There you are, dear. Yes, it was in the lost and found. Have a lovely day," the woman said. As the girl walked away, one of the boys called out a comment that had Buffy wrinkling her nose in distaste. Apparently, the secretary had heard him too.

"You watch your mouth, Henry Jefferson! Oh, yes, I heard that!" the secretary called out. "I'll report you to Principal Williams if you keep that up. Don't you give me that look, young man. Get back here!"

Buffy ducked out of the way as the boy in the navy colored sweater pushed through the door laughing. She felt a stab of envy as he ran to the group of guys in similar, clean-cut clothing, earning high fives and smiles.

Buffy made her way to the front desk. "Excuse me. Hi, I'm Buffy Summers. I'm new."

The name plate on the desk said Mrs. Richmond. The secretary rolled her chair back to a filing cabinet and thumbed through the manila folders within. Buffy held onto the edge of the desk as the passing crowd bumped her shoulders.

"First things first," Mrs. Richmond said, looking through a small pile of papers until she found two labeled with Buffy's name. "Here's your schedule. You have history with Finch first, dear. And here is your locker number. Now I just need to get your records and you're free to go."

Buffy took the papers with a smile. "Thanks."

"All right, Summers, Summers," Mrs. Richmond muttered and found Buffy's information. She smiled at her and opened the folder. Her eyes widened at the sight of the records there and Buffy winced at the look of pity tinged with a bit of hesitant fear on the woman's face. "I'm supposed to send you in to see Principal Williams. He's through that door, right over there, dear."

Buffy fought the urge to sigh in exasperation. "Thanks."

Her hands closed around her file and she shouldered her bag, heading toward the office. A small group of girls whispered as she passed when they saw where she was headed. _Great, I got sent to the office on the first day. I haven't even done anything yet. _

Buffy knocked twice and pushed on the door.

"Come in," a man said.

The office was a kind of oasis. It was a much quieter environment than the noise outside the door. The walls were papered in pale blue and the blinds were opened so that the occupant had a view of the gray skies and courtyard. He even had a tiny fountain on his desk made of sleek grey stone, bubbling softly. That wasn't reassuring. He liked order, he liked calm. Buffy swallowed and gave the man behind the desk a small wave.

"I'm Buffy Summers. Mrs. Richmond sent me here."

Principal Williams sat with a straight back, his hands clasped on the desk before him. He was wiry with dark eyes and skin, and wore a clean charcoal-colored suit. His tie had small silver circles printed on blue silk. Every item on his desk was meticulously organized. Oh yeah, he definitely liked order.

"Yes, Miss Summers. Please, sit," he instructed her, gesturing to the free chair before the desk.

_Yep, that's the bad kid chair, _Buffy thought. _The chair for the bad kids. Color me troubled…_

Buffy gave him a nervous smile and sat, gathering her book bag on her lap. "You wanted to see me?"

Principal Williams gestured for her folder. Buffy handed it over and worried her lower lip between her teeth as he skimmed it with critical eyes. Halfway down the page, those eyes widened in the same response that Mrs. Richmond had. They only seemed to get wider as he read on.

_It's not _that_ bad, _Buffy thought with a slight pouting frown.

Principal Williams let out a low whistle when he was finished and chuckled. It wasn't a 'haha' chuckle either, oh no. Buffy knew that kind of laugh. An administrator's laugh of judgment and doom.

_Okay, maybe_ _it _is _that bad…_

"Well, Miss Summers, you have…quite the record."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. Just a couple slip ups, here and there," Buffy said before he could continue. "I swear that I can do much _much _better but…well, you know how us crazy kids are…"

"It says here that you burned down your previous high school's gymnasium."

Buffy searched for the right words. "Well, there were circumstances…"

"Such as?" Principal Williams asked, staring her down.

"That gym was _full_ of vamp—um…asbestos," Buffy said hopefully, smiling in a way she hoped looked innocent and cheerful.

Principal Williams sighed and rubbed his temples, looking less than joyful to be stuck with an alleged troublemaker at his fancy school. "Buffy, I want you to know that we'll be keeping a very close eye on you here at Terminal. We don't tolerate rule breaking. This school has a reputation, a near flawless one at that, and under my watch it is getting closer and closer to that goal of perfection every day. Do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear," Buffy said with a nod. _Just keep smiling_.

"Glad to hear it. We've been promised that you won't have any more _slip ups_, as you called them. I expect you to follow through on that, Miss Summers. Are we clear here?"

"As a bell. A _really_ clear bell," she replied, trying her best to look earnest.

"Good. So happy that we understand each other," he finished. Principal Williams took one last look at her folder and shook his head before slapping it shut on his desk. "Now, get to class. Don't want to sully your new clean slate on day one by making you tardy."

Buffy slid from the office feeling almost dirty, troubled, although she hadn't really done anything other than save her entire class in Los Angeles.

_They should be thanking me, _Buffy thought, _instead I get the Rebel Without a Cause treatment. _

She passed by the sweater boys again. One of them whistled and whooped. The same boy from the office; Henry Jefferson. Buffy gritted her teeth in an angry reaction.

"Keep on moving, So Cal!" he called after her. "I love the way you walk."

_Ignore it, ignore it, _Buffy told herself as her hands balled into fists at her sides. _I can't punch the guy out on the first day. Stupid Principal. 'No more slip ups', _she thought in a mocking voice.

Buffy stopped before her locker and tried the numbers that Mrs. Richmond had given her. It clicked open.

"Hey, California!" he called again. "I was talking to you."

Buffy clutched the locker door and gritted her teeth. She turned and gave her best winning smile, but with a little menace behind it. Usually she saved that look for vampires on the verge of a staking. _Horny boys: just as bad. _

"What?" she asked, making her voice as annoyed and exasperated as she knew how.

"I heard you burned down your school. Are you like, a delinquent or something?" he asked, laughter in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you heard wrong," Buffy said, turning back to her locker.

"Come on," the boy said. Buffy could hear him walking close behind her before he leaned on the neighboring locker, dark eyes sweeping over her. He spoke right in her ear, his voice low and harsh, "Are you a bad girl, or what?"

"I mean it. It's kind of my first day and I really don't feel like dealing with you right now," Buffy said, the danger in her voice coming closer to the surface.

"What are you gonna do, huh?" Henry asked, a hand trailing over her hip before resting on her ass. He squeezed.

_Big mistake. _

Buffy caught him by his shoulder and pushed, slamming him so hard into the adjacent locker that it dented. She raised her fist instinctively and stopped it an inch in front of his nose.

"Ow!" Henry shouted in surprise. His eyes went wide as he raised a trembling hand to his shoulder, his eyes locked on the clenched fist just before his face. "Jesus!"

A crowd was gathering, murmuring behind them. Buffy released him and stepped back.

"God, California, take a pill," he spat, holding his shoulder and nodding to a group of similarly dressed cronies. "Let's go, guys."

He and his friends meandered away. The crowd was still staring at her.

Buffy slammed her locker shut with her shoulder, and turned to go, mortified. Whispers surrounded her as she walked past the onlookers; angry and hushed.

"Did you see what she did…?" one boy said in terrified awe.

"I heard she burned down her old school."

"Poor Henry!" a girl simpered, a hand to her heart.

"And thus my day begins," Buffy muttered.

The school day passed in a slow hell. Each bell that rang was a step closer to getting out and—

_Then back to Watcher Central to punch it out and dagger dodge all afternoon. No thank you._

The bell for lunch rang at noon. Finally, a chance for social contact that didn't involve handsy creeps.

_If anyone in this school doesn't think I'm a psycho killer. _

Buffy felt an unfamiliar flutter of uncertainty in her stomach as she stood in line with her tray. She tugged the hem of her t-shirt reflexively. Boys had been checking her out from a distance, a few girls gave her nervous compliments on her hair, but there was hesitancy. She'd already been labeled. They were scared of her.

Buffy scanned the cafeteria for a place to sit, tray in hand. _A crucial moment of the high school experience. Or it will be when I figure out where the hell I'm going to sit…_

She glanced at a group of girls with shiny hair and bright smiles. They reminded her of her friends from Hemery. They reminded her of home and seemed the safest choice.

"Hi there," Buffy said, sidling up to their table with her best smile. "I'm Buffy. I'm new."

The girls exchanged quick whispers. One gave her a cool once over. "We know," she said.

Buffy sat in an empty chair, opposite the one who had spoken to her. "Well, great. Someone's got to explain to me the best place to buy shoes around here. I need to learn some shoppy secrets."

Buffy felt her confidence slipping a little as the other girl gave a bored list of local stores Downtown before slipping back into conversation with her friends.

Buffy sat with them for a total of ten minutes before she realized they weren't going to speak to her. They didn't want her there. There wasn't that nice…smoosh, that feeling of clickage that meant she'd found friends. She talked and they gave her terse, one-word answers that left her feeling worse than if she hadn't said anything at all.

_I guess cool in Los Angeles and cool in Cleveland aren't so smooshable. _

But she wasn't cool anymore. It hit her like a shock of icy water. She was the freak delinquent pyromaniac who sent her old school up in flames and might set fire to their fancy cars.

_Oh. _

Buffy sighed and stood. The girls didn't even acknowledge her leaving. For a moment Buffy wandered, wondering if this was what it was like to be miserable in high school instead of living the dream. Everywhere she looked the students were so alike. Sure there were differences, there were cliques, but there were no other outcasts to be seen.

Buffy wandered out into the courtyard. There were fewer students out here, probably because of the threat of rain. She sat on one of the stone benches to pick at her cafeteria spaghetti and watched a group of girls walk by, laughing.

_I can still do this, _she thought.

But she had never felt so out of her element. The day passed in the same sort of quiet isolation. As she headed home with a heavy mind, Buffy realized that she couldn't be sure of herself anymore at school. The one place that she had been so convinced that she would be able to fit in outside of slaying.

"I'll have to find somewhere else to be a happy, self-confident me," she whispered. _In a non-slaying capacity. _"I can do it..."

But she felt so unsure.

* * *

"Again," Ms. Davies insisted.

"No offense, Watcher Lady, but I'm kind of beat. We have been at this so long, I'm starting to think it violates child labor laws," Buffy said, breathing heavily.

The basement of the house had been fashioned into a sort of training room. Mats covered the floors and weaponry lined the walls. If Buffy wasn't feeling so miserable, she may have enjoyed it. From late afternoon into the night, she had dodged every sort of weapon Ms. Davies could throw, but her Watcher still wasn't done yet.

"Labor laws have nothing on sacred duty," Ms. Davies said. The corner of her mouth twitched as if she'd said a joke, but her expression was as steely as ever.

Buffy rolled out of the way as she tossed a small knife, then another.

"So," Buffy said as she dodged and blocked. "What's with all the intensive training?"

"As you know, Cleveland is on a Hellmouth," Ms. Davies said, still throwing in perfect rhythm. "A place of deep mystical convergence."

"That draws in demons like the American populace to the Backstreet Boys," Buffy said, catching the next knife by the handle and tossing it aside.

"Do not make light of this, Miss Summers," Ms. Davies said, throwing a sleek curved dagger. "The Hellmouth is stirring."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Buffy muttered in a dark voice. Of course it would be. Of course school would be a suckfest and then slaying would be a…suckfest.

"I'm glad," Ms. Davies said coolly.

Buffy felt her resolve slipping. There was no concern, no interest in what might have made her so dejected. Just an 'I'm glad' with a subtle helping of 'I don't care how unhappy you are.'

Buffy caught the last knife and dropped it to the wooden floor with a clatter. She didn't pick it up. As Ms. Davies retrieved more from the wall of weapons, Buffy had had enough. She headed for the stairs. If she needed anything, it was to get out of this house with its stupid creepiness and Watcherly atmosphere; it was just a reminder of everything she had lost.

"Miss Summers, where are you going?" Ms. Davies asked.

Buffy paused, one foot on the steps, one off and a hand on the wooden banister. She gave her Watcher a mournful smile. "Sacred duty calls."

* * *

The week passed in that same endless cycle. Wake up, go to school, try at social connection, _fail _at a social connection, go home, train, call mom, try dad's new number—no result—go slay, and on and on and on.

After the incident with Henry, no one seemed to want to let her in, no matter how hard she tried.

"Made any new friends yet, Buffy?" her mom asked during a nightly phone call.

"I'm trying," she said, hoping she sounded more optimistic than she felt.

She stood in the upstairs hall, the place with the only phone in the house, and leaned against the wall. Buffy twirled the cord around her wrist and watching spiral shadows form on her skin in the candlelight. At least her room was right across the hall. Easy phone access for the teenager in the house.

Joyce picked up something in her voice that only moms could hear. "Honey, what that boy did was unconscionable. You did the right thing in defending yourself. It's what I would have done."

_Yeah, but you wouldn't have broken his clavicle. The only reason I'm not floating down the river to Expulsion Island is he doesn't want to admit that a girl like me did it. _

But what she said was, "I guess." Buffy sniffed and pushed down tears. When she spoke next, her voice was small. "Mom, when are you moving?"

"As soon as I can, Buffy. But remember, I've got the Sherman collection coming in. I don't know if I can uproot just yet."

"Yeah, I know," Buffy said quietly.

"Things are still all right with your housing, aren't they?" Joyce asked. "You're staying with someone who can help you with your education, learning all the stuff you need to learn?"

Hearing her mom repeat the Watcher-fed lie had Buffy feeling a little guilty.

"Sure, I guess," Buffy said, unsure of how exactly she felt. She and Ms. Davies kept themselves to themselves when not slaying. She frowned and felt her lower lip tremble. "I just miss you."

"Tell you what," Joyce said, "next week I'll fly out. We'll have a girl's day, look at housing listings."

Buffy grinned for what felt like the first time since the move. "Really?"

"Yes, really," her mother replied. "I just need to get this shipment settled first."

"Very cool," she said. Hope bubbled in her chest.

"I love you, Buffy."

"Love you too, mom," she said.

At least there was the visit to look forward to.

Now, Buffy stood in the middle of Greenfield Grove; the cemetery nearest to the house. A vamp had dusted on her, leaving a fine coat of ash on her hair, her skin, and her new leather jacket. She'd purchased it on a sneaky shopping trip to a local store Thursday night, when she'd finished taking out a mess of creepy little demons who'd been hiding in the sewers. Now it was all covered in vamp remains.

Buffy brushed it off as best she could. "Typical evil undead, have to get in one last—"

Her words were cut off as the vamp's buddy knocked her off her feet. The one that had her pinned was at least six two with bulky, thick muscles. The cords in his neck bulged as he tried to get his fingers around her throat.

"Slayer!" the vampire growled.

"Yep, that's what they call me," Buffy replied, narrowing her eyes. She rolled them and plunged the stake into his heart. Yellow eyes bulged before he, like his friend, went dusty.

Buffy brushed off her jeans and stood with a shaky sigh. School was still just as bad as ever. _One incident, one that isn't even my fault, and I'm pariah-girl, _she thought, her mind bitter and strangely lonely.

Buffy hated the feeling. She wanted friends again. She wanted to cheer, and shop—_not_ in secret—and date, and…okay, the thought of dating was kind of daunty. Sure, she'd had a boyfriend—_for like five minutes—_before they had split, but Slayerhood had definitely been a deciding factor in the breakup. A relationship now would have to be entirely Slay Separate. _If I had a guy, he could never know, _Buffy thought, _if I had _friends_ they could never know. _

The sigh she let out was heavy with frustration and shaking with too much emotion.

_I don't know if I can do this, _she thought, _I don't know if I can do this and still be me._

She began wandering back toward the house, but switched directions on a whim—_I don't want to go back there yet—_and wandered through the aisles of gravestones.

"Big creepy house, big creepy cemetery," Buffy muttered, twirling her stake in her hands. She felt so bitter, so used. "Like I'm their super weapon. Just put stake in hand and point toward vampires, Buffy'll do the rest!"

Life as she knew it was over and Buffy felt herself unable to take it back. She resisted the urge to kick a nearby grave. She was tired, she was angry; she was too many things to describe, and all of them in the realm of the very-bad. She headed for the street, for the heart of the city, and for more demons to slay.

"At least things can't get any worse," Buffy whispered to herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **This story assumes that Spike learned about Angel's soul at some point between the flashback events of _Why We Fight_ and the events of _School Hard. _

Betaed by All4Spike.

Thanks to everyone who followed, made a favorite, or reviewed. I really appreciate it. Please R&R.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 3

Their room was dark.

Oh, it was as sunny as you please outside. A stifling Saturday afternoon and an irritatingly loud one at that. All the goodies waiting just beyond the threshold and Spike was stuck in the silent hotel room, cut off from those bloody crowds of people just standing about like the world's most convenient buffet. They were just ready to be picked off one by one. Or, at least, they would be when the sun went down. _Could almost drool at the thought, _he mused, _who knew it was so hard to get a decent meal around here? _

"Summer in Mexico City, never again, eh, love?" Spike directed to the couch in the hotel suite's most shadowed corner. "Can never get in a brawl and a decent kill. Nights here are too short for their own good, not even nights really, just…imitations…Know what I mean, ducks? Dru?"

Still no answer, just the slightest shifting of white silk. In the murky room, amid shadowed furniture and darkly papered walls, she shimmered and gleamed. Spike sighed heavily.

_Don't worry, baby, I'll bring something sweet back for you._

"Tick bloody tock," Spike muttered. It would be a few hours at the very least. He was already starved. _And so is she…_

Knowing how hungry Drusilla must be only made his impatience grow. This, coupled with the hot and arid hotel room, made stuffy by the drawn curtains, had him squirming to get out and find something_ fun_ to do. _Something distracting…_

Even if he brought her a late night treat, there was no guarantee she would eat it. She turned her nose up at that pretty shop girl he'd brought just two nights ago. _One of her favorites too. A ripe little thing, in the bloom of her youth…Dru, you're killing me. What can I do? _

Drusilla hadn't had a decent meal since they'd arrived last week. The first night she'd gorged herself, surprising and pleasing him. That feasting was still in evidence every time Spike left the suite.

The foyer of white and grey marble was painted in delicate drops of red that ran down the walls to form serpentine designs. _Maps to fairyland, she calls them, _Spike thought with a gentle smile. The original occupants were dead. Drusilla's fairy maps all led to the same place in that pale room; a bloodstained couch that had once been blue. It was soaked through. The family sat propped up as if posed for a portrait; mum, dad, and kiddies, all in a row.

Dru had draped them herself and tied pretty lace cloths around their mouths and eyes. She spoke with a dreamy expression lighting her face as she went about the task.

"A lovely picture they make," she'd whispered as she'd tied the last cloth with a giggle. "Now my secrets are safe."

The father's body had sagged as she'd spoken and Drusilla had been there in a flash.

She'd slapped the corpse's cheek lightly and put a finger to its lips.

"Shh," she'd said, "naughty."

To finish the game, Dru had held the youngest child to her and danced a slow waltz, humming a quiet lilting ditty to the little girl's corpse; something her mother had sung to her in life. _Before Angelus_, Spike thought_. _Soon Drusilla had become too weak to continue and had needed her rest. Spike regretted not disposing of the bodies when he'd had the chance, but Drusilla had wanted to let the game go on. Now she was attached to them.

It had been all right for a few days or so, but after that the smell had started to wear on him. It was beyond unappetizing, it was the nauseating smell of blood that had pooled and clotted, going bad within their veins. The stench mixed with the dry heat was almost too much to bear. All Spike could do was ignore the unappetizing stink of their rotting flesh and try to keep his sick girl happy.

When Spike had complained about the stench, Dru had said the family knew sweet things and must be kept. Spike heard her laughing that night, lost to the murmurs in her mind.

_The things I do for you, baby, _Spike thought, coming out of his reverie. He threw another glance towards Dru on the couch, wriggling and restless.

"Spike," Drusilla crooned. Her voice was soft with sickness and lethargy.

How had she grown so frail? She sounded like a flame that flickered and fluttered on a low burning wick. Someday she would snuff out. _And soon_. Spike tried to push the thought from his mind as it choked him with images of waking curled around a pile of dust. He turned his attention to where Drusilla lay on the plush upholstery of the fainting couch.

She groaned again, writhing in pain, in exhaustion, and drew her knees to her chest with a laugh against the anguish. Spike could see the tears in the corners of her eyes. Her mind was where it usually was of late. The mob in Prague and the dark place she'd been dragged to after.

Drusilla's eyes glazed over in her delirium, locked on whatever small object of the room merited her fixation this time. Spike knew she was trapped there, replaying countless agonies again and again.

Memories flooded him of her being taken away, swept from his arms in the crowd as he kicked in the teeth of unsuspecting humans, a wild cry on his lips as he tried to grasp her hand.

Then she had been strapped to a chair and tortured until she couldn't stand it anymore. That damn inquisitor had reveled in her screams. _God knows what all he did to her, _Spike thought. There had been something mystical involved, he was sure. She wasn't healing the way she should. Drusilla was getting worse, weaker, as time went on. Spike could tell by the furthered pallor of her skin, the shaking in her movements, but what could he do?

"Spike…" she said again, a bit breathlessly.

"Yeah, baby? I'm here," he said.

Spike knelt at her side and rested his cheek against hers. It felt even cooler than usual, chilled even in this hot air. He nuzzled her softly and petted her hair back from her brow with a gentle hand. It was achingly soft, like fine silk against his fingertips. The tension left her body under his caress and she shivered.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "What is it you need?"

"I need to find my sunshine," Drusilla said. Her voice was soft and surprised as if she had just been struck by something miraculous.

Drusilla stroked the hair at the nape of Spike's neck as she spoke, grazing his skin with her nails. It was his turn to shiver.

"What's that, love?" he asked.

Drusilla cradled his face in her hands and traced her thumb over his cheek. "Oh, my wicked boy…"

Spike smiled at her. She could be so soft and affectionate in her sickness. Some part of him almost liked her this way. Not the weakness or the pain—_Never that—_but the simple way she seemed to love him. The loyalty that came with dependence. There was no flightiness, no straying, no finding her flirting with her food or local demons when he was off in search of cigarettes or a something to kill. She was his, and his completely.

Spike savored it because he knew it couldn't last.

"My sunshine," Drusilla repeated. "We have to find it, Spike."

"Hmm? My pet wants sunshine," Spike said and Drusilla nodded in rapt agreement. He chuckled and stared at her in blind adoration. "You can't have sunshine, Dru."

She giggled as if he had made a joke. "My pretty, pretty love. You don't see…"

Spike smiled against her skin and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "What don't I see, ducks?"

Drusilla's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Sunshine, my sunshine…He should be here, brightening up my corners with his lovely dark." Drusilla stopped her pained writhing and pouted a petulant frown. "But he isn't, he's been covered. Ooh, presents need opening, bows untied…Spike, my sweet, we need to find my Angel."

_No._

Spike jerked back at the mention of the name. White hot anger was flooding him, blinding him with rage and familiar pain. He might as well have been burned. If Angel came back, Drusilla would be lost to him. He would ruin their newfound closeness, her sweetness and love.

Angel would take her away.

Spike stood and turned from her, hiding his fear.

"No," he said, finding his voice, "No. We're not going to go looking for him. He'll only bollix this up, make it worse."

Drusilla rose in a fit of anger. She sat straight and insisted, "But he is the way!"

Spike exhaled sharply through his nostrils. She was staring at him furiously, accusingly, and her sharp nails dug into the couch's velvet upholstery. Spike took in a slow breath. An unneeded breath, but one that calmed nonetheless. Angel, oh God, she really was talking about _Angel_. If there was one thing that he couldn't take…

_Easy there, _he told himself.

Spike sucked up his anger as he breathed. He rolled her words in his mind and drank in their meaning. A shiver of hope ran up his spine. She knew her cure, or at least had an inkling of what it could be. Spike regretted his anger, but his irritation remained. He leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, another to her jaw, tiny apologies with his lips.

"The way to what, pet?" Spike asked in a measured whisper, resuming his soft stroking of her hair. He stomached his dark emotions. If Angel could cure her…

"The way to me and mine. He'll end it all. He'll make me well. He'll make me right. Angel will make me what I am supposed to be." Drusilla frowned and turned to Spike with a curious expression on her face. "And you as well…"

Dru was never wrong. Never. All right, things could be shaky, but she was always on the right track. It was all in understanding her, knowing what she meant. Spike knew better than anyone. _Better than Nancy Boy. I do. _Just the mere thought of Angel going anywhere near Dru made his stomach roil. But still, Spike dared to hope that her words meant that Angel could—

_Don't get ahead of yourself, _Spike thought in caution. He had followed one too many leads that had led to nowhere in his search to restore her.

"The ponce is in California, last I heard," Spike said, cradling Drusilla's cheek in his hand. She turned her face to lick the length of his index finger, nipping him there. Spike scoffed. "Living in alleys, sucking on poor unsuspecting rats. Pathetic."

"I need him to save me…and he can, Spike, _he can_…I will be complete."

Spike moved away from her and growled, "Dru, we don't even know for sure where he is!"

"I do. He's where the jaws," she snapped her teeth in the air with an audible click, "open up."

It didn't take long for it to dawn on him.

"He's on a Hellmouth," Spike said.

Drusilla smiled at him and touched a finger to her nose.

Spike was still impatient. "But which one?"

"The place where the sun shines down on hill…and dale," Drusilla said, drawing a slope in the air before her with one long finger. She smiled wickedly as it dawned on him.

"Sunnydale's Hellmouth", Spike said, a slow grin blooming on his face. "Well fancy that."

He had been planning to take Dru there as soon as he could. Of course it would be the kind of mystical convergence of evil that would attract that wanna-do-good wanker before Spike ever had a chance of using it to restore her. He was half-tempted to keep her away, keep her here, to keep her away from _him. _

Even with a bloody soul stuffed inside him, Drusilla would shag Angel six ways past Sunday with only a word. Hell, she _wanted_ to. Even now, she wanted to. Just the thought made Spike's anger rise, fantasies of dusting the tosser overtook him. No matter what closeness he and Angel had shared in the past—_taught me everything I know_, he thought, rather fondly_—_the other vampire's countless trysts with Dru hung heavy over Spike's head. _I can't. I can't watch it again. We're just going to have to find a cure without Angel. _But Dru sounded so sure. What would become of her without him?

_What's going to happen to you, baby? _Spike thought as he looked Dru over. His beautiful deadly girl in such a state.

That terrible thought of her crumbling into nothing in his arms had Spike cold and afraid. Was that what would happen if they didn't find something soon enough? He was running out of hope, and ideas. Out of options and without a plan, Spike knelt back at her side and took her trembling hands in his, kissing each knuckle in submission.

"All right, ducks," Spike agreed quietly. "We'll take you to see daddy…"

* * *

School was over. _Thank God. _

No more awkward walks past polished tile floors and steely grey lockers. No more whispers in the hallway from frightened passersby. Now Buffy could have summer. There was no way that Ms. Davies would be able to keep her occupied with slayage every moment of the day.

_Maybe I can pencil in some fun. _

Besides, in the last few weeks living in her new house, Buffy had mastered the art of sneaking. Every morning, she'd sneak in a donut on the way to school, despite Ms. Davies' strict Slayer diet guidelines. At night, she'd sneak an extra hour to herself after patrol, taking her sweet time learning the city streets while her watcher slept, or sitting alone in a park in the Flats, watching the Cuyahoga River flow on its way to meet Lake Erie. Buffy had to admit, it was strangely thrilling having secrets in a life that had become an open book to a woman she barely knew.

The secrets weren't the only thrill. Slaying was surprisingly…satisfying.

It wasn't really _fun_, exactly, but there was something gratifying about plunging a stake straight through a vampire's heart or snapping the neck of a demon. It was a feeling of power and of control. With her mother arriving the next day, Buffy wanted a night out, a night to savor by herself.

Buffy walked down the stairs with measured steps. She followed the downstairs hall to the kitchen. It was also paneled in dark wood, but there was something warm about it. _Not the unworkable stove, _Buffy thought. Regardless of her views on the appliances, it was cozy. She shook her head at the sight of the teal gas stove.

"Don't Watchers know you should always spring for a Viking?" Buffy said. She bypassed the stove and silver fronted fridge, opting for a ripe green apple from the fruit bowl on the breakfast table. Buffy took a large bite and smiled.

_Quality apple, not too mealy, _she thought.

She stretched her shoulders with a pop. _Time to blow this popsicle stand. _

The house was nearly silent, save for the soft clink of a teacup against a saucer as Buffy made her way down the hall. That was a sound that she had become all too familiar with in the last week. Sure enough, as Buffy rounded the corner past the arch which led into the living room, Ms. Davies sat primly in her favorite chair, reading a book with _way_ too many pages, and sipping tea from her best china cup.

"Out for patrol, Miss Summers?"

"Yep. I'm cruising for a bruising," Buffy said and frowned. "Well, not for me, but, vampires had better watch out."

Ms. Davies didn't even glance up.

"I'll just go then," Buffy said, turning on her heel.

"Miss Summers."

"Lecture voice," Buffy muttered beneath her breath and turned. "Yeah?"

"You've haven't been logging your nightly Slayer duties," Ms. Davies said, shutting her book and holding it in her lap.

_Stupid Slayer log, _Buffy thought, _who thinks of that kind of thing? Like I'm workin' nine to five._

"I've been busy," Buffy said with a shrug.

"Well, perhaps it doesn't matter to the Council just how _busy_ you are," Ms. Davies said, her tone flat. "We have chosen a very traditionalist approach to training you, Miss Summers, and we certainly have our reasons. After Merrick's more…modern methods failed in Los Angles, it is only natural that we would be concerned that the continuation of such practices could lead to reckless endangerment. Do you now understand why you must abide by our approach?"

"It's not like I'm reckless-girl," Buffy said in defense, more than a little annoyed. "You don't need to know where I am every minute of every day."

"All we wish is that you are kept alive. The best way to do that is to know where you will be and when," Ms. Davies said in what was surely a conclusion. She opened the book and thumbed back to her page. "Log your slaying. That's an order."

Buffy frowned and shook her head as she left, although Ms. Davies was absorbed in her book.

She paused in the carved arch of the foyer and muttered, "I'm through with orders."

* * *

It was nearing one when Buffy wandered through the warehouses on the Flats' west side.

The Flats had seen three murders in the last two weeks with the cops reporting severe neck wounds in the autopsy reports. Now to find the vampires in question.

"Bull's-eye," Buffy whispered.

A chain link fence surrounding a shoddily unfinished building had already been cut to crawl through. By the looks of it, the perpetrator was someone far larger and taller than Buffy. She ducked under it easily and wandered through the yard. Piles of unused piping and construction materials sat beside rusting equipment. A crane sat half-raised, its red paint chipping.

"Not exactly the look I would have gone for," Buffy said as she passed a plastic bin filled with rusted pliers that had turned on its side. "Abandoned construction chic? Not so much my thing."

A rustle caught her ear and the fine hairs on the back of Buffy's neck stood on end. Every sense screamed_, "Vampire"_, and close.

Buffy whipped the stake from the waistband of her pants and stood, ready and listening.

A frizzy sheet of long hair, bleached and supporting visible roots caught Buffy's eye. Looked as though the head it belonged to was sneaking along the side of the warehouse. Buffy turned and threw the stake just as the vampire dodged, then rose from her crouch with a snarl.

"What is it with you freaks and the leather fetish clothing?" Buffy asked, eyeing the vamp's leather bustier and pants combo. She strode forward on the attack just as the vampire launched herself forth.

"Slayer," she growled in reply, revealing fangs more yellowed than Buffy had yet seen.

The vampire sprang for Buffy, who caught her fist mid-punch and twisted, eliciting a yowl. Buffy attacked while she was down, sending Vampira spiraling through the air with a swift kick to the center of her chest. The vamp leapt back up and kicked at her with stiletto boots.

"I mean," Buffy said between blows and kicks. "I wasn't gonna say anything because, hello, awkward. But the clothes? What are you? The stripper in a hair metal video?"

The vampire growled and attacked with renewed rage. Buffy dodged each blow, still marveling at how death could make her blood sing so completely.

"Oh, sorry! Was that what you were going for? How totally rude of me. But, hey, congratulations, I really bought the look," Buffy said. The blow she delivered sent the vampire flying.

She landed hard and stared at Buffy in horror before turning and scrambling over the chain link. Without warning, the vampire took off running down the street, her boots clicking loudly on the asphalt.

"For the love of…" Buffy took off after her and leapt over the fence in one swift movement.

The vampire was fast. She threw furtive glances back over her shoulder, yellow eyes widening when she saw that Buffy was still on her tail.

"Nope, you don't get away that easy," Buffy muttered, picking up speed.

The area was quickly becoming more populated. A drunken man at a nearby bus stop shouted as they ran past.

"Back off, Slayer!" the vampire yelled. She turned and grabbed a wrist, catching Buffy by surprise.

Both fell in a tumble, scraping and bruising exposed skin on the asphalt.

"Are you serious? With your nails?" Buffy cried as the vampire clawed at her.

Buffy elbowed her in the gut, eliciting a cry of pain, and pushed her onto her back. She pulled her stake.

"Say 'bye bye' 80's wonder."

The loud bray of a honking horn screeched just beyond them.

Buffy looked up with wide eyes as a late night semi barreled their way towards them at breakneck speed. She leapt off the vamp and rolled to the curb as the trucker shouted curses out his open window.

The vampire was already up and running.

Buffy struggled to her feet and took off after her.

They weren't in the west side of the Flats anymore, but a suburban neighborhood, the kind you could get lost in with houses all outfitted in the same beige paintjob. Loud music pounded through the air around them as they approached the largest house at the end of the street.

The vampire seemed to have a pretty good idea of where she was headed, straight to the inviting populated house teeming with bodies and loud music. The perfect place to hide and grab a snack while she was at it.

Buffy picked up her speed as the vamp leapt over the stone fence into the back yard. Some guys back there cheered as Buffy followed.

"Ladies!" one boy shouted from the back porch. "Come on in!"

The vampire gave Buffy a wicked grin. _Looks like you earned yourself an invite, _Buffy thought, _just what I need. _The vampire just reached the open double doors at the back of the house when Buffy tackled her. They tumbled inside, slamming into an end table and sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

"Chick fight!" a guy stationed by the keg screamed, sending the others into a frenzy.

Buffy struggled as the vampire pinned her, snarling and showing those yellow fangs. She wrapped her long nailed fingers around Buffy's throat.

"You will be the greatest gift that my king has ever received!" The vampire leant down, fangs bared. "And I'm getting the very first taste…"

Buffy bucked at the last moment and the vamp flew, giving her time to scramble to her feet. The vampire snarled and lunged once again, but Buffy had the advantage. She pushed her into a small room with a desk and computer.

"Ah man, I've gotta see this!" one boy shouted. He and his friends ran after them, eager for a show.

Before the boys could follow, Buffy slammed the door, pushed the vamp against it, and staked her. The stake went all the way through, splintering the wood. Someone outside whooped.

"Hope you kept the receipt on this gift," Buffy said, wrenching her stake from the door. _Whoever it was she was planning on giving me to might be pretty bummed out. I'll buy him a nice coffee mug._ No matter how glib her thoughts, the idea that something was after her was a little,daunting; frightening. A shiver ran up Buffy's spine.

A noise of surprise in the nearby closet startled her, making her jump. Two college kids in rumpled clothes peered out.

"What's going on?" the guy asked.

Buffy froze, eyes wide. She laughed, loud and forced. They just stared at her.

She cleared her throat and gave a shaky smile and a shrug. She realized she was still holding her stake and stored it in the waistband of her pants. "Um…chick fight?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains some dialogue from the episode _School Hard_ written by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt.

Thanks to those of you who have followed, made a favorite, or left a review.

Another special thanks to my beta All4Spike.

******Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 4

"I'm telling you, she said 'her king'," Buffy asserted once again, flopping back on the couch. "I was going to be a 'gift for her king'. Not that hard to wig a little at the idea of gift-wrapped Buffy."

They were in Ms. Davies' book-lined living room, the coffee table bearing a thin stack of journals in the search for any vampire who went by the title of 'king', at Ms. Davies' insistence. Buffy could barely pay attention, her eyes darting to the clock above the mantel. It was almost one o'clock, the afternoon sun spilled in through gaps in the room's heavy curtains. Buffy was ready to go, and though she stomached her energy, it bubbled just below the surface. In contrast, Ms. Davies leafed slowly through a Watcher's journal.

"A vampire who calls himself a king," Ms. Davies mused. "I thought that Lothos was one of the only that would be so bold. Yet, it seems we have another. Presuming that it_ is_ a vampire…"

"Probably. They're the demons with the biggest grudge. I'm the Vampire Slayer, I mean, the rivalry's in the title here," Buffy said. "Let's find our so-called 'king' in all of this so I can make with the staking. Okay, what do we know? King-guy, vampire, the kind that some girl in the highest stilettos this side of Hookerville would worship. Oh, and he probably wants to kill me. Any leads?" Buffy asked, taking the opportunity to stand from her seat and lean over Ms. Davies' current book.

"None whatsoever," Ms. Davies said, snapping the journal shut. "It's possible she was referring to a vampire that she is subordinate to, Miss Summers, but she could have just as likely been referring to a lover, perhaps a vampire she lived with who exercised some control over her—there are any number of possibilities."

"I know and I'm not worried," Buffy said with confidence, but a prickle of something chilling ran up her spine. _Just a feeling…_

"At this stage, I'd say that it is pointless to worry, although these matters are always worth a look," Ms. Davies said. "The Council will handle the tracking of potential threats and then you will play your part in this, the way you were meant to—"

The doorbell rang, loud and clear, followed by three clear thumps of the knocker.

"I'll get it!" Buffy immediately sprang up from her seat on the sofa and ran down the hall before Ms. Davies could react.

She barreled down the hallway and into the foyer, almost slipping on the Persian rug as she made for the door.

"Mom," Buffy said when she opened it, throwing her arms around her mother.

"Buffy," Joyce Summers said, squeezing her tight and running her fingers through her hair. She pulled back and looked her over. "You have the look of a teenager who just finished her homework. If it wasn't summer, I'd tell you to take a break."

Buffy smiled. "I blame residual learning burnout coupled with another day in the happening Cleveland lifestyle…It's tragic, right?"

Joyce laughed. "I can see that you're loving this temporary arrangement."

"Oh yeah, big love. The loviest," Buffy said. She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop grinning.

"So," her mother said, clasping her hands together. "What do you say we have that girls' day? We can see a movie and get lunch. You could help me look at housing listings."

"That's for real, right? It's not an elaborate prank where you win a thousand dollars if you're successful in duping me or something cruel like that?" Buffy asked, narrowing her eyes in mock scrutiny.

Her mother laughed. "No, Buffy. I just think it's about time to get started. You're probably all fed up with this doom and gloom."

"So you noticed," Buffy said with a nod to the curlicue metal candle holders.

"First thing first," Joyce said. "I want to meet the administrator."

Buffy frowned. "The admin—?"

"The administrator who you live with. The woman from the board. Davies, wasn't it?" Joyce asked. "Something Davies?"

"Yeah, that's her. She's—" Buffy said, turning and seeing her Watcher standing straight at the edge of the foyer, "standing right behind me."

"Mrs. Summers," Ms. Davies said, walking forward. "How wonderful to meet you at last."

"Yes," Joyce said, clasping her hand. "Glad to finally meet the woman who's been taking care of my daughter."

_Well, I wouldn't put it that way, _Buffy thought, but remained silent as her mother and Watcher made with the small talk. _Uh oh, veering into grade territory, time to make an exit before we discuss that C+._

"Let me just grab my purse," Buffy announced to no one in particular. She could still hear their conversation as she went upstairs and retreated to the sanctuary of her room.

She hadn't decorated it, that was for sure. The walls were half-paneled in the same dark wood as the rest of the house, over which was patterned wallpaper of floral designs on red. All of the furniture had been Ms. Davies' choice and everything but the bed matched the wood of the walls and floor. The two wide grated windows that opened over the slope of the roof were not Buffy's architecture design of choice either. She wasn't an English Rose and, last she checked, she was definitely living in the twentieth century.

Yet the room still had her Buffy touch. It was comfortably lived in. Pictures of her and her friends from Hemery were tacked to the cork board that hung on the wall beside the vanity, along with one of her pom poms. The bed was made, pillows fluffed and propped against the iron headboard, but clearly by a teenager and not someone adept at folding hospital corners. Mr. Gordo sat on her desk, which contained her diary, and her clothes hung in the closet. Several pairs of shoes lined the end of the bed beside her trunk, which was filled with her best weapons.

Buffy grabbed her small purse from the desk chair and bounded back out into the hall. If things went her way, she wouldn't be living there much longer.

"Yes, I can assure you she has kept out of trouble," Ms. Davies said as Buffy descended the stairs. "Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mrs. Summers?"

"No, thank you," Joyce said. "I promised Buffy that we'd spend the day together."

Ms. Davies cheek ticked for a moment and something flickered over her face. "Yes, yes, go right ahead."

"Bye," Buffy said, eager to leave.

Ms. Davies answered with a curt nod as the door shut.

The air outside was fresh and clear and the sun was shining for what felt like the first time since Buffy had arrived. She resisted the urge to jump around like a goofy little kid.

"Hope you don't mind the rental car," Joyce said. "It was all I could get this quickly. Discount price too."

Buffy was already hurrying down the stone path toward the sleek silver vehicle. "Okay, mom, that defines sporty. Look at you with your hot rod."

"Uh huh, you're funny," Joyce said, shaking her head as Buffy waited by the passenger door, beyond ready to go. "So, are you in the mood for Chinese?" she asked as she opened the door.

Buffy's grin was wide as she buckled up. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

Sunnydale, California. Spike had heard a lot about this place, a lot of real nasty stories. God, he hoped they were true. From the look of it, he had his doubts. It was just a town in the middle of nothing, of nowhere. There was a sprinkling of woods—thick and winding, but obviously planted there—amidst houses and businesses and an excess of graveyards. Out on the edges, nearer to the surrounding desert, was a university.

It looked like a sleepy college town, but the further in he went, the more Spike could feel it. And boy could he _feel it_. There was an undeniable aura of power, of evil, of _fun_. He drove in slowly and drank it in, trying his best to stomach Drusilla's soft moans from the seat beside him.

"Shh, kitten," he whispered, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "We're here to make you well again."

"I don't like it here, Spike," she whimpered, her long nails digging into her forearms, drawing blood. "It makes my mind feel on fire…"

Spike caught her hands and brought them to his lips, lovingly kissing each fingertip. "You're hurting yourself, ducks."

"Have to hurt. Have to feel. Must remind myself I'm _living_." She said the last word with a maniacal giggle. Her face fell and she trembled. "But I'm not living, pretty Spike. I'm dying."

"Please, love."

Drusilla pried one hand from his and licked her arm from elbow to wrist, following the trail of blood that one sharp fingernail had made. She swirled it in her mouth and made a fearful face tinged with surprise. "I taste of death…"

Spike growled, but with blunt teeth bit one of the fingers he still held, suckling it softly. "You taste all right to me."

"You don't know," she said, laughing again as if she had a secret. "You don't understand." Drusilla frowned, her lower lip quivered. "I want to go home."

"We will, sweet, we will."

Spike rounded the corner into town with a screech of his tires. He rammed hard into their welcome sign, too cheery for the likes of this place. It fell hard into a pile of leaves and wet grass. Spike killed the engine with a grin on his face. Tiny, sleepy college town. Dru would be healed and together they would bathe in the blood of Sunnyhell.

Drusilla's face lit up and she laughed a secretive laugh.

"What is it, baby?" Spike asked, cupping her cheek in his palm.

"I _am _home," Dru said, delighted.

Spike kissed her greedily, pulling her into his lap. His hands were gentle, careful as he caressed her, although his body sung for a violent frenzied coupling and a victim to share. _All in good time, _he reminded himself, cradling Drusilla close. She would be well again, she would. They would find a way. There was always a way.

"Let's go find your salvation," Spike murmured against her lips, drunk with wanting her.

"Ooh," Drusilla cooed, clapping her hands. "You've made your plans and off we go to find him. The things he'll make. It'll sparkle and shimmer in the breeze. Like dew in the early morning."

"That's right, kitten," Spike soothed, loving that soft babbling of her voice, the way she squealed in joy and anticipation.

A wave of emotion struck him as he looked her over; so hopeful. Spike pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her close. Drusilla struggled a little as if pained and he feared that he held her too tight. Spike loosened his grip, but didn't release her. Instead, he stroked her hair and murmured love words in her ear. A quiet moment alone. All that Angel was to her, he couldn't steal this moment.

Spike wriggled out of Drusilla's arms. He stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette.

"Home sweet home."

* * *

Spike burst through the doors of an old factory, Drusilla in his arms as they crossed the threshold. It was the perfect place. Abandoned and safe from the sun that would be rising in only a few hours time. Spike had searched the place before bringing Dru in, pleased to discover evidence that vampires had occupied it before. A few beds littered the back rooms that had once been offices and someone had hooked up a television with rabbit ears. It would be easy to get comfortable here.

"You like it, baby?" Spike asked. Drusilla laughed as he spun her.

"Spike, it's perfect," Drusilla said, throwing her head and arms back. "Oh, it's everything I've dreamed."

"Anything for you," he said. God did he mean it. Spike sniffed and went back to business. "Right. Soon as I find how to make you well, we'll find the poof and use him to our advantage."

"He's here, I can feel him," Dru cooed, a little too sensually. Her fingers curved into the air above her, following a pattern only she could see. Her eyes were wide with promises and her mouth parted in desire. "Mmm, he's near."

Spike felt a flicker of envy in his chest. He looked down at her and did his best not to sulk. "You know where he is?"

Drusilla frowned, shaking her head with a little mewing noise. She curled against his chest. "Can't see. He's in beautiful pain, heart yearning to get out…" Drusilla tilted her head thoughtfully, with realization, "To find the little gold girl. The little Slayer."

"It's the bloody soul in him, Dru. Ponce's gone all kinds of treacherous trying to pull off that kind of team up," Spike said and grinned wickedly. "We'll truss him up proper if he crosses the line with us and give him what's coming to him."

Drusilla liked that. She laughed rapturously.

"And I can play lovely games with him," she said, eyes flashing with promises. "Oh…such games."

Spike swallowed convulsively, trying to hide his pain. "Sure, pet. Lovely ones."

Dru clapped her hands as Spike spun her again and leaned against him, dazed with the bliss of things to come.

Spike petted her hair, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "We'll find Angelus, my sweet, and then I'll take care of the Slayer…"

"And I will be myself again," Drusilla crooned, kissing him roughly. She slid from his arms, her hands tugging the lapels of his duster to pull him tighter against her. Drusilla bit his lower lip with a happy bark. "Go find princess something sweet."

Spike nuzzled her, raising her hand to his lips to kiss it. "I will, baby."

After settling Dru down in one of the office beds surrounded by her pretty dolls and clean sheets from the trunk of the Desoto, Spike set out to hunt.

Sunnydale was not a large town by any means, but it was strangely quiet, even for its size. The streets were silent, empty. _Where are you, tasty little treats? _Spike thought, turning down an alley way and sniffing the air. He couldn't smell so much as a single human.

Spike turned a corner into a street lined with shops and a movie theater. Soft footsteps to his left and the scent on the air told one thing: vampire. He turned down the alleyway where the vamp was hiding. A hand shot out to grasp his throat, but Spike merely grinned. He spun and smashed the unsuspecting vampire into the brick wall before he could blink.

"What do I spy with my little eye?" Spike asked, tightening his grip on the vampire's neck and looking him over. Dark hair, leather jacket, white tank. Wannabe. "What's with the not-so-sneak attack, mate?"

"Thought you were human," the other vampire rasped, clutching at Spike's hand.

"It's been a while," Spike said. He released the vampire, who gasped in pain and rubbed his throat. "Now times a wasting, I've got a hungry girl back home to feed and I need to know what's what around here. Where'd the humans get to?"

The vampire smirked. "Inside. They've learned their lesson."

"Lesson?" Spike repeated.

"You're not from around here, are you?" another voice, this one female, said from the shadows.

A red-haired girl, her corseted top sinfully tight, stepped forward and wrapped possessive arms around the boy's shoulders, licking his ear in a lascivious show of possession.

"Xander," she said, coursing a finger up and down the boy's cheek, "you made a new friend."

"Maybe I did, Will. I'd be able to tell you a name if I knew who he was," the one called Xander said, throwing Spike a pointed look.

"Spike," he said and clapped his hands together. "And I'm not your friend, not unless you can get me some much needed information."

"Name it," the girl said, running her hands in seductive laps up and down Xander's chest, all the while peering over his shoulder. She growled softly, trying to gauge Spike's reaction. He glared at her in response, making her hiss low in her throat.

"Easy, Willow," Xander told her and turned to Spike. "What can I do you for, my man?"

"First off, where can a bloke get a decent meal around here? Been driving for hours and I'm bloody well starved," Spike said. "Second, I'm looking for a vampire called Angelus, going by Angel maybe, same man through and through either way you spin it. The ninny got himself stuffed full of a soul. I need to um," he laughed, "well,_ talk's_ not term I'd choose, but I need to see him."

Willow grinned in delight so fierce she appeared ravenous. "Spike wants to meet the puppy."

Spike smirked and chuckled. "Puppy?"

Xander nodded and turned to Willow, "If he meets the puppy, he meets the Master."

"Master? Who the bloody hell's the Master?" Spike asked.

"Big cheese 'round these parts," Xander said.

"He's in charge. He brings us fun toys who just scream and scream," Willow said, large eyes deceptively innocent.

"Not the first time I've heard that name," Spike said. He snapped his fingers in remembrance. "Is there a girl around here? Vampire, like us. Blond, short,_ raging_ bitch, goes by the name of Darla?"

Xander frowned. "Oh yeah, I remember her. Darla. She's dead. School librarian staked her the night of the Harvest, along with a dozen of the Master's best fighters. From what I hear, it was a shame."

"Well, c'est la vie, whatever will be and all that," Spike said, not even pretending to care. He wondered a moment how Angel had taken it, those two had been closer than close. "So this Master, where's he live?"

Willow and Xander gave him twin grins, their fangs wicked and sharp.

Xander spoke. "Would you like to find out?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please R&R, I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Without giving anything away, I should note that at least one Warning applies to this chapter, all of them are listed in Chapter 1.

Thanks once again to All4Spike for betaing. You're marvelous!

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 5

"Master? Darla's Master?" Drusilla asked. Each step she took was slow as they made their way down Sunnydale's main street.

"That's right," Spike whispered, looking her over with concern. Drusilla had wanted to walk, but Spike still held her lightly with one arm anchored around her waist in case she stumbled or fell. She shook slightly; fragile in the cool night air. He wouldn't have been surprised if a breeze blew her over.

"And he has my Angel?" she asked softly.

Spike tried to will away the jealous lump in his throat, finding little success. "Yeah, kitten, he does."

"Oh goody," she said with a sigh. "I so want to see him. Can I see him now, Spike?"

"Not yet, not until we get to the club, Dru," he explained. It felt like the thousandth time, but Spike didn't care, not a lick. He could explain this same thing to her over and over, a million upon a million times, and he would never tire of it. _She's going to get well, _he thought, daring to hope beyond anything that he was right.

The music from the place Xander had called the Bronze reverberated through the air in a rough rhythm. Drusilla squealed her surprise at the sound of it and fell back against Spike, holding her head.

"I don't like it. It feels like tiny silver mallets are tinkering with my skull. They'll split me, they'll make me break. Make it stop," she whimpered. She turned to run, but Spike caught her firmly around her waist. Dru's weak struggles were pointless in the state she was in.

"Shh, baby. It's how we'll make you well again," he told her, kissing her forehead before sweeping her up in his arms. She clawed against him, whimpering all the way, but he held tight.

Truthfully, he hadn't wanted to bring Dru along, but Xander and Willow had insisted upon it.

"He won't trust you both unless he meets you both. That's it. That's how he works," Xander had explained.

So Spike held on tight as she whined and moaned and tried to escape him. He muttered soothingly in her ear and rocked her against her struggles, holding her close and tucking her head beneath his chin. To heal Dru, he needed Angel, to get to Angel, he needed the Master, to get to the Master, he needed Dru. _Stupid bloody cycle._

Drusilla stopped squirming the instant that they stepped through the door. Spike tentatively set her down. Her eyes went wide with joy and she melted against him, swaying slightly with the music.

"Oh, it reeks of death…" she sighed.

Spike watched as she took in the sight. Humans cowered in cages. One was strapped to a pool table, blood dripping from his open neck. Spike walked carefully to avoid stepping in blood where it had splattered and half-coagulated in puddles on the floor. Whoever ran this place certainly needed a cleanup crew. _Reeks of death in more ways than the metaphor, _Spike thought. And why tie the victims? Torture them? Sure, he'd done it in the early years proving himself to Angelus—it was how he'd earned his name—but why prolong what could be a fight and a kill with pointlessness? What satisfaction did it bring?

He looked at Dru. Her face glowed like a child on Christmas morning.

"Spike, it's the carnival, and they've let us in for free," she said in awe.

"Go on, play," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"I shall," she said with a purr and ran to stick a bony, long nailed hand through the bars of the nearest cage. The man inside leapt back with a cry of unadulterated fear. Drusilla giggled in glee, reaching both arms through the bars and holding them out to the man like a lover. "Oh, I shall."

Spike chortled. It was nice to see her look so delighted, so free after the long months of sickness.

"Hey."

Spike raised his head in greeting as Xander walked in, his red-haired bint hanging on his shoulder and peppering his neck with love bites.

"So this is your place," Spike mused.

"The Master's place. Nicest digs in Sunnydale," Xander explained. "How you liking it?"

"Could use an air freshener," Spike said. "But it'll do us fine."

"Your girl seems to love it," Xander observed.

Willow's eyes raked over Drusilla and she grinned hungrily. "What a pretty little birdie."

The look on Xander's face showed that he echoed the sentiment, his gaze lingering on Dru's waifish figure as she spun and snarled at the chained humans, delighted with her unexpected treat.

Spike felt a rush of possessiveness and wanted to act on it, but repressed the urge. He needed the Master to give him Angel. He wanted to make Dru well, and sitting ill with the Master's most loyal followers certainly wouldn't help his cause.

"Got to ask, what's Angelus doing in this kind of town? It's not exactly his style for long-term living," Spike said. "Usually goes for the grandiose, you know. Always has."

"He came looking for a girl," Xander replied.

"A girl?" Spike asked. Dru's words came back to him and he laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh, the Slayer."

"That's the one," Xander said.

"He waited and waited. He wanted to help her, but she never came," Willow said in a mocking, simpering voice, "poor puppy."

"She's supposed to be in Cleveland from what I've heard. Good thing too," Xander said, "the Master wouldn't want her here, meddling in his plans."

"So where is he?" Spike asked. "The Master?"

They grinned at him and glanced to a pair of velvet curtains hanging just near the back of the club.

"Follow," Willow said.

"Right behind you, love," Spike said, turning to find Drusilla.

Spike pulled Dru gently from the man in the cage.

"Come on, poodle."

She muttered in protest and shook her head, trying to get back, but he lost patience and carried her, pressing his lips to her temple gently. _It's gonna be okay, ducks, it'll be okay, sweetheart_. On a whim, Spike spun her twice. Drusilla squealed and clapped her hands, distracted from the disappointment as her own personal fairyland swirled around her in a flash of colored club lights.

"We're going to meet the Master," Spike told her. "We're going to restore you."

"Angel will do it," Drusilla whispered. "Oh, Angel…"

Spike brushed troubling thoughts aside as Xander and Willow rounded the corner, pushing curtains back and leading them into a private room. Seated in a high-backed chair like some monstrous Tony Montana was the ugliest vampire Spike had ever seen, his face gnarled and contorted with age. Bat-like ears sat on either side of his head and twitched at the sound of their entrance.

_If that's what I'll look like in a thousand years, I'm staking myself,_ he thought, setting Drusilla at his side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders protectively. She fidgeted as she looked the Master over, a giggle on her lips. Spike tilted her chin and stole a swift kiss in an attempt to quiet her.

"Master," Willow purred.

"Willow, Xander," he greeted them, his modern accent oddly out of place with his ancient features. "Who are these?"

"They're here to play with the puppy," Willow said.

"Fetch him for me," the Master said with a wave of his hand.

Willow and Xander flashed twin grins of malice and disappeared around the corner of the small back room.

"So, you're here to see Angel," the Master observed. "Such a shame, my hopes for him were so high."

Drusilla laughed as the Master spoke. Spike bit his lip and shushed in her ear, hoping he could persuade her to be quiet and still.

"So Angelus is your prisoner," Spike mused. "Gotta say, I'm a bit impressed. What he do, brood and sulk and moan too much? All he's been doing for the better parts of decades past, from what I've been told. Not sure if the punishment you doled out is strict enough for that crime."

"He tried to free captive humans. They were to be the first for the greatest scientific innovation since the creation of the wheel," the Master asserted, pressing his fingertips together and staring down his snout-like nose.

"Sorry to have missed that," Spike said.

"Don't be. The prototype was flawed. I've started once more from scratch. It could take years to perfect it. Such a waste, all that blood, gone…"

"So what did it do, this…great innovation?" Spike asked, searching for conversation.

"Oh, it's quite fascinating," the Master said. "It was meant to—"

Drusilla, who since her outburst had managed to stay relatively still, made small noises of excitement at the sound of rattling chains, interrupting the ancient vampire's next words.

Xander and Willow dragged Angel into the room and Spike found himself burdened with uncustomary pity for the poof. His clothing was scorched and torn, shirt unbuttoned, and half healed scars from various tortures marred his exposed chest. That was all surface pain, but when Angel looked up at Spike he could see it in his eyes. They had broken him.

"Spike, Drusilla," Angel gasped. Willow kicked him forward and knelt behind his crouched body, pulling his head back roughly by his short hair and licking his neck. It was marred with bites and burns.

"Play now," she said, pushing him all the way down and straddling his back.

"Now now, Willow," the Master said. "We have guests."

Willow pouted and pulled back, slinking obediently back from Angel on the floor. Angel crouched shakily on all fours, every movement betrayed inner exhaustion.

"So, I have brought Angel for you to see," the Master said. "What would you do with him?"

"I just need to borrow him for a couple of weeks, maybe a month tops while I figure out just what I need him for. I've got the research started. Plucky little vampire volunteered to translate some promising texts," Spike said. His eyes locked on Angel's and he smirked. Still staring at the vampire on the floor, he said, "But still, could take a while. Oh, and don't worry, I've got my own chains and everything."

Spike hadn't quite expected it to go smoothly, but he was not prepared for that look of pure fury on the Master's face as he stood with a snarl.

"You would presume to come in to my home and leave with my family?" he snapped.

"Your—" Spike laughed, unable to stop himself. "Your_ family_? Oh, this is just _great._"

"That's _mine_," Drusilla asserted, stomping one delicate foot. "My daddy."

"You heard the lady," Spike said. "Her daddy, my old misshapen granddad. If he's anybody's he's ours, Batty, so piss off."

The Master snarled as Spike walked forward, hooking his fingers in his belt. Willow and Xander ran forth to block Spike from their master. They snarled, their faces shifting. Spike did the same, ready to fight when Dru squealed.

Angel, left unguarded, leapt up and shattered the Master's wooden throne with his fist. He came up clutching a makeshift stake. Momentarily free, Angel grabbed the only unoccupied person in the room.

Spike whipped around, his unneeded breath caught in stark fury and fear as he watched Angel hold Drusilla tight, the stake poised to enter above her unbeating heart.

"You get the bloody hell away from her," Spike threatened low in his throat. He stepped closer, but Angel pressed the tip of the stake firmly against Dru's chest, teasing her skin with it.

Drusilla squirmed and writhed, but looked deliriously delighted all the same. Angel looked almost pained as he held her there.

"Let me go, right now, or she's dust," he threatened, staring at the Master. His eyes flickered once to Spike's, apologetic, but resolved.

The Master gave a hideous smile, tilting his head in contemplation.

"Let him go!" Spike roared at the Master.

He only laughed. "Oh, this is delightful. Angel, in chains, threatening the life of a girl I know naught about and care nothing for as if it could sway me?" His laughter rose. "That is terrific."

Spike's hands twitched at his sides, but he resisted the urge to grasp the old vampire by the throat. "I said, let him go. Please, she's all I have…She's _everything_."

"Spike, I don't want to hurt her," Angel said. Drusilla only struggled.

"Then let go of her, you pisspot," Spike all but shouted. Angel was capable of doing it. Spike had seen his cruelty before, and soul or no soul, he could kill her.

"Not until I'm guaranteed to walk out of here, free," Angel said. His eyes never left the Master's.

Spike snarled at the sight of Angel, holding Dru so tenderly, although in a firm grip, as if to soothe her. He didn't want to kill her, some part of him still cared. _Thank God for that bloody conscience. _

"Xander, Willow," the Master said, almost lazily, "put an end to it, please."

Spike threw himself forward as the vampires sprang. They landed together in a tangle of limbs on the floor, each howling and jerking away each time the stake drew too close in Angel's flailing arm. Spike could hear Drusilla's frightened whimpers as she was trapped in the midst of the fray. She didn't understand. He elbowed Xander hard, sending him reeling as Willow dived for Angel's throat. Angel still held the stake. He still held Dru. Willow hit him at exactly the wrong angle and Spike's world turned red.

Spike cried out as the wood splintered and pierced her chest. His eyes were locked on her as words bubbled up in his throat like bile—_I'm so sorry, Dru. Baby, I'm sorry—_but she turned to Angel. Her mouth opened in horrified surprise as she began to crumble, but she laughed and reached out a hand to lovingly caress his face.

Drusilla spoke, her words hollow and empty as she leaned closer to Angel, her lips close to his, as if to kiss him, "Oh, my Angel…you are my sunshine…"

Then she was gone, dust on the floor.

"_No,_" Spike whimpered, sobbing, his fingers digging through her remains as if he could piece her back together and make her whole.

Angel dropped the stake in shock, his horror clearly etched on his face. "God, Spike…I didn't mean to. I didn't…"

"You were supposed to make her well!" he shouted. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

Spike lunged for him, his face crunching into the shape of the demon as he struck. Angel fell. They struggled on the ground in a tangle, Spike pinning the larger man down. It would have been difficult to keep him there, but Angel had stopped struggling. He'd given up. Spike's punches were almost weak from grief as a sob tore from his throat. That pissed him off. He hit harder as Angel apologized, over and over. It wasn't enough. Spike punched hard, furious, and felt blood well from the other vampire's nose, cool and slick on his knuckles, heard a satisfying cry of pain.

"This was once exciting, it now bores me," the Master mused. "Kill the white-haired swine and put Angel back in his cage."

At the sound of the command, Angel shoved Spike aside and was up and running as Spike's hand closed around the stake.

Spike grabbed him hard from the back, knocking him through the curtain and into the club. The vampires there froze and watched the show as Spike pummeled him, hell-bent on making him suffer before he killed him. Words tumbled from his lips, but he could hardly think. His face was wet and his vision swam. Drusilla was dead. Angel killed her.

Her daddy. Her _sunshine_.

Her death.

Spike held Angel down one-handed and grabbed for the makeshift stake that had been Drusilla's undoing.

It wasn't until he felt the presence of Xander's hands on his back, a new stake poised to enter, did Spike break away. He kicked Xander back into the Master's chair, causing squeals of horror from Willow as Xander's weight struck the Master squarely in the gut, toppling them down. Spike gave Angel one last disgusted look before rising to run. Their gazes held for a moment as Spike paused in the doorway, Angel's broken and sorrowful. Spike wanted to go back, to stake that bastard proper, but instead he turned and ran.

God, what was there now? What was there without Drusilla?

Willow and Xander didn't follow him as he turned onto Sunnydale's main street. Two vampires passed him and one looked over his tear-stained face with a snicker. Spike caught the stranger by his collar and hurled him without ceremony through the glass window of an electronics store. He landed hard and howled in pain.

"What is your _problem_, man?" his companion asked.

Spike smiled wryly and laughed. It was a crazed and wild noise. He fumbled for a cigarette and kept walking as he attempted to light it, trying to ignore his shaking hands. The flame from the lighter was so small, so bright. It would be so easy to bring it to his sleeve, to—

"No," he said aloud, snapping the Zippo shut. "Not going out like that."

Death was on his mind as he trudged back to where he'd left his car just outside the factory. Spike collapsed beside the Desoto, a broken, tearful heap and flicked his cigarette away. He sniffed and felt pitiful for the first time since Dru had freed him of humanity.

She'd set him free.

_I should honor her, _he thought, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, _I should…_

He should do what he did best.

Spike felt a wicked grin bloom across his face. The Slayer was in Cleveland, a real hot spot of hellish activity from what he'd heard. _So Angel wanted to help the little gold girl? _Spike thought. _I'll rip her lungs out. _

Spike wrenched open the door of the Desoto. The car still smelled of her, of Dru. He fell forward and rubbed his face against her side of the front seat to absorb her scent in deep lungsful. She was dead. Dust.

Spike growled and slammed his fist through the center of the bench seat, leaving a jagged hole.

"I'm coming for you, Slayer," Spike muttered, rubbing his face against Dru's seat once more. That scent of her hair, the sweetness of her skin, that slight aroma of young blood that hung about her, so innocent and deadly, strengthened his resolve.

Spike pulled a half-empty bottle of bourbon from the pile of newspapers and crinkled bags in the backseat, taking a long swig. It was supposed to help, but somehow it made him cry harder.

He would leave tomorrow. He would. He would drain the Slayer dry for her, for Dru. From there he would figure out what to do. Maybe he could follow the line, taking them out one by one, until they finally got him. Maybe he should just dust himself instead.

Those were thoughts for the future. This was the now. _Tomorrow, _he repeated mentally. Tonight was too much. He couldn't do a single thing.

So Spike curled in her seat, nursed his bourbon, and sobbed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **We are at the end of the Spike/Drusilla chapters by this point. I should note that this story is going to be long, like, novel-length long, so if anyone is concerned by the lack of Spuffy goodness, fear not, it will come.

I have a good deal of this written by now and will be posting pretty regularly. However, a lot of it needs to be edited and sent off to my beta. I'm trying to get a posting schedule down and have been putting up a new chapter every three to five days.

Thanks again to those of you who have been reviewing. If there are any thoughts on the way the story is going so far, let me know, I'd love to hear your opinion.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** This chapter contains some throwaway lines from the episode _Ted_ written by David Greenwalt and Joss Whedon.

Thanks to all of you who read, reviewed, followed, or made a favorite. Another thanks to All4Spike for the beta work.

******Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 6

Getting back into the swing of things post-mom visit was harder than Buffy had thought it would be.

It had been more than a week already, yet each time the phone rang, she would bounce upstairs and answer hopefully, awaiting any possible indication that her mother was Cleveland-bound. Her nightly mom-calls consisted of statements like: "I'm still talking to the realtor, honey" and "once I find a space, Buffy. It shouldn't be too long".

Patrols had her wandering by that same realtor's office that they had visited after their movie where they had finally found the perfect house. She never went in, never even came close, but Buffy wanted to see it, to know that it might really be happening soon.

"Soon, but not _now_ soon," she grumbled. It already felt as if she'd been waiting a lifetime. Summer was rapidly passing her by and soon she would have to return to school.

It was already 2:30 am, Tuesday morning, and the only places Downtown that looked populated were dingy bars and back alleys, but upon inspection, even those were vampire-free. _We just keep missing each other,_ Buffy thought. In all likelihood, they were probably closer to the Hellmouth, some miles away from this part of the city. Buffy was hunting stragglers. Still, it was nice to get out of the graveyard for once.

"Almost like a Slaycation", Buffy said to herself, twirling the stake between her fingers. "A Slaybatical, a Slayer's intermission. I've got a million of 'em…"

Buffy sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the way that it shone and slipped through her fingers like silk. It was blonder than it had been, bright with new highlights that blended well into her already fading color. _A major perk of the mom visit, _Buffy thought with a smile.

The lack of vampire action had led Buffy to wandering away from Downtown earlier that night. Now she sat on a neighborhood curb, just staring up at the house on Maple Street with the For Sale sign in its yard.

The two-story home was just the right size for her and mom, with a little room to spare. It was white with brick accents and some blue trim—_sort of a modern family meets fairytale chic—_and fronted by a green lawn studded with trees, wispy looking plants, and a path leading to the door. There was no garden gate to fence her in. An alley round back would give her easy access for patrol. Best of all, the house was close to a public high school that allowed Buffy to dream of transferring. It was everything that she wanted. It was perfect.

Buffy sighed after one last look and turned back toward the city's center to catch some late night vampire action. Now all her mother had to do was find some gainful employment, and Buffy's life would get a whole lot better.

"I'm thinking of opening a gallery," Joyce had said over their most recent phone call. "One that I could really call my own. I've been managing one that just doesn't feel like mine for too long and it's what I wanted to do before I married your father. I have the money all budgeted now that the divorce is final. I'm sure I have enough. What do you think, Buffy?"

Buffy thought it was a great idea, but Joyce needed to find a space, and gain approval from the necessary city planners, and purchase it, and—the list just went on and on.

_But she can do it, _Buffy thought, _I mean she's _mom_. She of the goal-accomplishment._

Buffy wanted to be sure.

"Until she does, I'm 'Slay, no Play, Buffy'," she muttered, back beneath the shadow of the skyscrapers.

The thought made her heart feel heavy in her chest. It ached.

Bright lights bore down on her from high-rise windows, streetlamps, and the occasional sign, bathing her in the light of bright bulbs or glowing neon. Fresh cool night air, so different from the smog and exhaust of California, swirled around her as she turned a corner. Buffy breathed deep despite herself, allowing it to fill her lungs. City smell. Like home but…fresher. She almost liked it.

"Vampires," she said in a soft voice, calling out into the night. "Here vampires."

She turned down a dimly lit street lined with a few townhouses with dark windows. There were a few tables set out in front of a closed café. The wind made them rattle. Coming from the street's end, Buffy could hear the soft beat of music in a club. A street lamp flickered rapidly and Buffy felt a telltale tingle on the back of her neck. The click of her new boots on the sidewalk felt like a drum leading her into battle, only made of soft leather and chunky heels.

_My kind of drum, _Buffy thought.

She walked faster down the street, heading toward the club, almost running. A scream pierced the night.

Buffy pounded on the club's front entrance, but no one seemed to hear. She pulled at the heavy metal door—_aren't we over that post-modern industrial thing, yet? It's called an impending new millennium, people—_but it was tightly bolted. Buffy ran and skidded down the alley where the café met a corner store, hoping to find a back entrance. Her arms pumping as she raced.

"God, man, what's wrong with your faces?" someone shouted.

Buffy turned the corner in time to see a crowd of five or so vampires leering viciously and laughing as the man before them cowered. One held the limp body of a girl in club clothes; a halter and low-rise jeans. She was dead. Her neck was still dripping. The rest were closing in on the beefy bouncer whimpering at the door. The music inside must have been too loud for the club-goers to hear the outdoor commotion.

"What'd you do to her?" the bouncer demanded, trying, and failing, to hide his fright.

"A lot less than we're gonna do to you," the vamp up front said with a snarl.

"Hey!" Buffy called out, standing her ground with a hand on her hip. The other entered a coat pocket, her fingertips brushed against a stake.

The vampires stopped their advance and turned to look at her, melting back into their human faces.

_Yeesh, bad dressers, _Buffy thought, all of them in 80's bondage gear with the big hair to match.

"Look fellas, it's a little girl," the one in front said with a smirk.

Buffy walked forward. "Whatcha doing?" she asked in her most unsuspecting voice.

"Get outta here, kid!" Another one demanded.

"Hang on, man." The tallest of the lot of them stepped forward. A black bandanna kept rough brown hair back from his forehead and dark sunglasses were perched on his craggy nose despite the surrounding night. "Let her stay. Girl might wanna play a game. How's about it, honey?"

Buffy stepped forward, hands in the pockets of her long coat. It was leopard-printed, textured, and so completely California that it made Buffy feel a thousand times more comfortable in her skin. Ms. Davies seemed to hate it.

"Well, it all depends. What kind of game?" Buffy asked, fighting to keep her tone gullible.

The biker vamp growled in glee, his mind completely violence saturated. "Less of a game really. More of a show of you getting your lungs ripped out."

He vamped out and tossed away his sunglasses, standing tall and intimidating over Buffy.

"Scared yet?" he asked, flashing his fangs.

"Disappointed."

"Huh?"

"I thought there were gonna be games. You know, knucklebones, capture the flag…"

He swung for her, once, twice.

"Oh, I got it. Duck, duck," Buffy said, dodging his blows as he swiped uselessly. She pulled a stake from inside one pocket and struck home. "Goose."

The other vampires snarled as he burst into dust and stalked toward her. The bouncer turned and ran down the back alley and into the night.

"Okay, that wasn't one of my best," Buffy said as they leapt for her. She exchanged a kick and dodged a vampire fist adorned with too many rings. "But you've gotta admit, it went with the inspired theme."

She staked another before he could blink.

"All right," Buffy said. "How about this?"

A third vampire stepped forth.

Buffy punched him with three sharp hits and pulled the bandanna down over his eyes. He lurched at her and met the pointy end of the stake.

"Blind man's bluff," she said, her smile over-large and enthused, her tone as peppy as she could make it. "How was that? That was funny right?"

"Who are you?" one of the remaining vampires gasped, but Buffy could tell in by his eyes that he knew.

"You haven't guessed yet?" Buffy said. "Dumb on top of that outfit is _not_ the look you want to be wearing, pal." She paused as if thinking. "Actually, _that outfit _on top of that outfit is pretty much bad enough."

He stared at her and shook his head.

Buffy advanced slowly. "Let me give you a hint," she said. She gestured to herself, "Slayer…"

She threw her stake.

"Slayee," she said.

The vampire dodged at the last second and the stake clattered away.

"Let's get out of here, man!" he shouted to his companion.

They ran to a lemon of a car and hopped in, slamming the doors. The engine groaned as it creaked and rumbled to life. Buffy ran and reached for the passenger door when they revved before departing with a screech of tires burning rubber.

"One hint of a battle they might not win, and they run. They pull an Olympic relay, tell all their friends. Note to self: bloodsucking fiends get filed in the 'wimp' category," Buffy said, kicking an empty beer bottle so that it rolled down the alley. "Is there _anyone_ out here who wants to fight me tonight?"

* * *

The sound of tires squealing on the surface of the street broke the silence of the night as Spike swerved hard into the Cleveland suburbs. His wheels bumped over a curb and back down, sending his flask sliding down the bench seat and away from his grasping fingers.

Spike had finally found the strength to leave Sunnydale after several days drunk and holed up in his car. His eyes still burned with tears and his chest ached from the sobs that had racked him.

Dru would never dance again to that slow strange music she loved, before laughing and urging him to join her, or dress up her dolls in velvet and lace before doling out their punishments, or enjoy her morning paper—an endearing trait that had never failed to make him smile—or a million other things. She would never get well. That was the part that made his stomach turn.

He had failed her.

Spike felt hollow. The emptiness seeped through him like an illness and it was only getting worse since he'd left Sunnydale behind in favor of his new endeavor. It hadn't been easy getting started and more than once he had found himself parked on the side of the road, passed out and dreaming of Drusilla, of her death.

Of her last actions, the way she _leaned _toward him—

_No, stop bloody thinking about that, _he ordered himself.

He chuckled in a way that sounded half-mad in order to stop from blubbering again, and wiped frantically at welling tears.

Spike's thoughts drifted to the Slayer, as they had been doing so frequently since Drusilla's ending. He couldn't help but wonder if his imagination was doing her justice. Whether it was or not, this mystery girl was a distraction he was grateful for. She kept him from sinking too deep inside his own misery. Sometimes she had Nikki's face, sometimes the girl from the Boxer Rebellion. He wondered how she fought, how she thought in the heat of battle, and Spike found a hint of excitement in his grief. Whoever this bird was, she was dead now that he was here, and, God, it was going to be perfect. She was going to be perfect.

_I'm gonna find her, Dru, _Spike thought, grasping the flask, uncorking it, and taking a deep swig, _and I'm gonna kill her for you._

He turned hard down a residential street, knocking into a mailbox and sending it skyward. A porch light flicked on. Spike's stomach growled for lack of blood, and he considered a confrontation, but he sped on. There would be no side-show distractions for him tonight. He was onto the main event and he was going to focus.

"I'm going to find you, Slayer. Have my run of this town and turn all your little school yard pals into mincemeat. Gonna do it for Dru. For _Dru. _Hear that, Slayer?" Spike called out his open window, slurring his words a bit. He made another sharp turn and left tire marks on one perfectly mowed lawn. Drusilla's words about the girl who'd brought Angel to Sunnyhell rang in his head—_gold. _He snorted and muttered, "Better watch your little golden ass."

He slammed into the low iron gate of an overgrown cemetery. The thin curls of metal burst open and fell in two twisted pieces as he sped through. Cleveland had a Hellmouth, just like Sunnydale, that much was incredibly clear. It had to be close by, or maybe just big. There were sure to be newly turned vamps just looking for a Big Bad to latch onto. He could hire a few of them, catch up with the Slayer on some dark evening while she skipped home from school, or a good slayfest, or what have you. And then the fun would begin.

Spike made another sharp turn away from the heart of the city and parked outside a cheap motel. With a grin, he got out of his car.

Spike lit a cigarette and leaned on the hood, swaying slightly as he tried to remain upright.

"Dru, baby," he muttered, with a fresh twist of pain deep in his chest, and exhaled a plume of smoke. "I think I'm gonna like it here."

* * *

"You arrived home late last night."

"Huh?"

Buffy wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. _Sleepy now, speaky later, _she thought and grabbed blindly through the cabinets for cereal and a bowl. She still wore her pajamas, her hair mussed, and her mind groggy from the late night out. The thought crossed Buffy's mind that teenagers were supposed to get _more _sleep in the summer, not less. Then again, most teenagers weren't the Slayer.

Ms. Davies sat primly at the breakfast table, fully clothed in her usual businesslike crispness, a newspaper spread neatly beside her morning cup of tea.

"Sorry for the lateness," Buffy said and yawned, sitting at the breakfast table across from Ms. Davies before she realized she had forgotten milk. _Muscles sore, _Buffy thought. She stretched her arms and poured herself some coffee, extra sugar, on her way to the refrigerator. "Okay, sugary goodness is exactly what the doctor ordered for wakeful me. It's like the teenage recipe for bright eyes and bushy-tailed behavior."

"I'm sure," Ms. Davies replied, her eyes skimming the fine print of her paper.

Buffy sipped and leaned against the counter. "Mmm, me too. This is very effective. I am feeling the vigor. I'm vigorous."

"Why were you so late, Miss Summers?" Ms. Davies prompted as Buffy walked to the fridge, ignoring her comments.

"Bunch of vamps at a club who were majorly stuck in the glory days of excessive hair spray. They killed at least one girl," Buffy said as she returned to the table with her coffee and milk. "I think I'll go back and check it out tomorrow. It's all loud with the music and then the death…it seems like a possible vampire feeding frenzy."

"And this kept you all night?"

"All right, so I ventured a little into the land of the distracted." Buffy smiled and poked at her cereal with her spoon. "I was looking at that house for sale on Maple Street. My mom was interested in buying it, she's got it all lined up with the realtor."

Ms. Davies frowned and shut her paper, letting it drop to her lap. "Surely she wouldn't move without first finding employment?"

"She's working on it," Buffy said. "She's looking for a gallery space."

"Starting a new business," Ms. Davies observed, "How very entrepreneurial of her."

"She's the entrepreneurialist," Buffy agreed in a clipped voice, eating a spoonful of cereal.

Ms. Davies was quiet for a moment. "Indeed."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please R&R, I would love to hear your thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **This chapter and the next go together in two parts. I will be posting the next one a little sooner than I usually do. It also contains some dialogue from _School Hard_ written by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt.

Thanks so much to All4Spike for betaing.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 7

It only took him a few minutes of posturing and slurring threats to the Slayer—who Spike imagined as a far away pixie-like spark, taunting him—before he passed out in his car in front of the motel, sleeping the heavy sleep of the inebriated. His dreams felt dark and weighty, ominous, and they did nothing to alleviate the dull ache deep in his skull. Faces and colors swirled around him in a dizzying circle as he slept; tangled threads of half-formed dreams.

A fierce sensation of burning on the sensitive skin of his inner wrist made him jerk in his slumber before he shrugged off and snuggled deeper into the safety of his duster.

"Stop it," he muttered, shifting in his seat. "Said…stop…"

The sharp scent of flesh on fire reached his nose and the burning increased. He twitched in shock, then—

"Bloody hell!" he sat straight up and immediately regretted it when he got a face full of sunlight. Spike shouted in pain and covered his face with his sleeve.

_Left the sodding windows down. _

The light of early morning seeped in from the East, flooding the Desoto with unwelcome brightness, and causing Spike's skin to sizzle and burn.

"Ah!"

He took an unneeded breath for courage and bolted from the vehicle, his coat drawn up over his head. Spike dived into the shadowy overhang of the motel's front office before running inside, smoke rising off his skin.

In the chair behind the reception desk, a sleeping night manager snored lightly, surely on the verge of getting off his shift.

"Gimme a room," Spike demanded, banging his hand down on the counter.

"Hmm?" The man arched a drowsy eyebrow. He snorted, a sort of gargle in his throat, and muttered again, "Whatchasay…?"

He snored loudly, his head drooping down onto the desk.

"Sod it". Spike reached over the shield keeping patrons away, to where the room keys hung on tiny metal hooks, grasping the first one he could get. A plastic disc engraved with a room number on the second floor hung from it on a key chain. _It'll have to do. _

"Thank you so much for your help," Spike spat at the manager. He fought the urge to take a bite of the sleeping morsel before turning on his heel back outside and running up a flight of thankfully shadowed stairs.

* * *

The room wasn't much, Spike had to admit.

Everything was yellowed—the sheets for décor, the walls from excessive smoking—and the scratchy bedspread was patterned with autumn leaves. His boots sunk in the thick carpet— which was a sickly yellow-green. The whole places smelled like stale cigarette smoke and sweat. But the drapes were thick, keeping the early sun at bay, and the TV worked.

"Suppose you'll have to do," he muttered into the room's emptiness, flopping down on the bed. He flicked on the television and tried to keep his attention focused on the daytime soap—a good one at that—but the brightness of the screen hurt his head.

_Never gonna take on a Slayer like this, _he told himself. What wouldn't he give for a few bob to get himself a proper room? Or hell, even the opportunity to take one by force. No matter. _Stuck here til Mr. Sunshine takes his evening nap, _Spike thought, _might as well make the most of it. _

Spike decided to spend his day in an attempt to sober up.

He showered away the days without Drusilla in the motel's small, tackily wall-papered bathroom. Spike scrubbed his skin pink under the hot water and let the cheap motel-supplied soap cleanse his guilty arms, his tired face, and his sob-torn chest— he tried to make himself feel clean again. His scalp ached under the assault of his angry fingers lathering his hair with cheap motel shampoo. The steam felt good, it cleared his head a bit and left the mirror thickly fogged.

It was time he accepted that Drusilla was never coming back, all he could do was treasure her, honor her, and move onto his next endeavor in unlife, whatever that may be. He'd carry her inside. The thought was a bit chivalrous, a bit romantic. It fed the long-dead poet in him.

His stomach growled in want of blood and he groaned. It was barely midday.

Spike flopped back on the bed, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His head still throbbed and he was a bit woozy. How much had he drunk in these last few, miserable days? He raised a hand to his hair and made a mental note to get his gel out of the trunk so that he wouldn't be riding through town with his curls like a poofter. He sighed. Until the sun set, there wasn't much at all he could do. He turned the soaps back on and tried to ignore his aching stomach.

There was a rap at the door. An evil grin spread over his face.

The maid who had come knocking found herself being jerked inside the room. Before she could scream, Spike drank deep until she was drained.

He felt marginally better as he flopped down on the hotel bed and watched _Passions_ through sleepy eyes, eagerly awaiting the setting sun.

* * *

"All right, I guess. No, I'm not upset, I'm—yeah, okay, big time lie, I _am_, but…" Buffy inhaled a calming breath and shook her head. Her voice softened. "No, it's okay. I mean it, it's fine. Yeah, I know you can. I love you too, mom. Bye."

Buffy put the receiver down with a click and sighed once again. No available space. Nothing her mother could find in her field. In all of _Cleveland. _Hell, she'd even said she'd checked twice_. _Now she had to look all over again, search prices, look into deals. Joyce was even considering giving up on opening a new gallery and instead just managing one, just like she did in L.A. At least the house was still a possibility, but without a job...

Would she still make the move?

"A whole city and zilch," Buffy muttered.

It gave her a funny feeling.

Buffy sniffed back tears, her eyes welling. She leaned against the wall of the upstairs hall and rested her forehead against the wood paneling. It was cool and comforting so she pressed her cheek against it, letting that coolness accept one hot tear that trailed down her face.

She raised a hand to cover her mouth when she realized just how close she was to sobbing and shook with the effort of holding it all in.

_Don't cry, don't cry, _Buffy instructed herself. Her eyes burned. She thought of anyone, anything watching her cry that she wouldn't want to see; Ms. Davies at her coldest, staring down her nose at a tear-stained Buffy, the nastiest demon her imagination could conjure, standing over her and gloating as she sobbed, school starting in a little less than a month and the looks on the faces of her rude-o classmates if she were to shed even a single tear in their presence—

That one stopped the crying.

Buffy walked down the stairs, remembering to skip the creaky one, her nerves temporarily soothed by bravado. But by the time she reached the first floor hallway, goosebumps had risen on her arms.

Ms. Davies strolled briskly down the hall, looking terse and impatient. Her glasses hung around her neck by a thin silver chain and without them, she seemed even more bird-like and observant than usual.

"I was expecting you downstairs for training seven minutes ago," Ms. Davies said in a brisk voice.

"I was talking to my—"

Ms. Davies cleared her throat and pushed those glasses back up her nose. "I did not ask what kept you, Miss Summers, I merely informed you of your tardiness."

"Yeah, but—"

"I don't want an excuse," Ms. Davies said, no passion in her chilled tone, "I want my Slayer to heed orders."

Well, that conversation was over.

Buffy followed Ms. Davies down the flights of stairs, fuming, her eyes shooting daggers at the back of her Watcher's head. The dislike inside her twisted in her gut and rose up like bile.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, to say anything to ease her frustration. She was standing on the edge and Ms. Davies' cool, cruel attitude was pushing her off it.

"This afternoon, a woman was found murdered just outside town. Her body was discovered beside a nearby business, one at which she was employed; a motel frequented by our local vampires."

"I know the place," Buffy said quickly, "But—"

"The autopsy report has not been completed, of course, but my sources have informed me that on first inspection, she bore contusions to the throat," Ms. Davies said, ignoring Buffy's sound of protest and quickly interrupting before she could make another. "This was not our usual vampire. This was…decidedly sloppy."

"You mean those contusions got extra contusiony? Believe me when I say 'yuck'," Buffy said, crossing her arms as they entered the basement training room and retreating to lean against a mat lying against the wall.

Ms. Davies wrinkled her nose. "The assailant—a vampire, I'm sure—displayed signs of drunkenness, or at least a mild inebriation, according to those who examined the body."

"So you want me to hunt down some wino vamp?" Buffy asked in disbelief.

Ms. Davies merely stared at her in a disapproving way.

Buffy felt the pull deep within her. It was an urge to go out, to hunt, to kill. To _slay. _It was getting stronger every day.

It frightened her.

But maybe hunting down a local Lush-Undead was a better option for working out her anger than a screaming match with her Watcher.

"Yeah, sure," Buffy said finally, containing her anger. She walked past Ms. Davies with shoulders trembling.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ms. Davies said, aghast. "We are scheduled to train, we must—"

"I'm going out to slay the guy," Buffy said, stopping in the doorway.

"Miss Summers, there are other matters at hand. Information on your 'king vampire', for instance—"

"I'm deciding this one on my own, got it? I'm making my own choice here. I do that sometimes," Buffy finished in a low voice.

Ms. Davies had gone pink cheeked at being defied.

"Miss Summers, I am your Watcher. You will heed my—"

"No," Buffy said, everything spilling over, "No, I think I won't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I feel like being _otherwhere_ right about now."

She shut the door slowly, just to see Ms. Davies' face disappear inch by furious inch. Then she turned on her heel and bolted.

Buffy got to her room on the second floor faster than she'd thought possible, banging into the small table that housed the phone and knocking the receiver off as she ran. She slammed the door shut and turned the lock roughly. Her eyes welled, her throat clenched, and her heart was racing.

_I miss my mom. _

Buffy raked her fingers through her hair as she slid down the door to sit with her back pressed against it. How had it all gotten so low, so miserable? She was the Slayer. It had to mean more than this.

She looked up to see a stake sitting on her bare wooden bedside table beside some books from school gathering dust, and Mr. Gordo. Buffy stood on shaky legs to retrieve it.

Her hand closed around the weapon so tightly that it left stinging splinters in her palm. Her vision swam with unshed tears as she stared down at her clenched fist, tight around the whittled cedar. The pale wood of the stake swirled into a soft blur and fused with the summer-tan of her flesh. They merged in her eyes, the very picture of oneness.

Buffy threw it with a soft cry.

The stake hit the wall with a clatter and fell. Buffy collapsed at the foot of her bed, her eyes wide and her legs drawn to her chest.

Though she sat stationary, eyes dry, Buffy wanted to scream. More than anything, she wanted to scream; she wanted to cry, to sob, she wanted to…

She wanted to kill something.

* * *

When Spike awoke the next night, he was drowsy, but clear-headed enough to go out for a drive. _Wanna see the place the Slayer calls home, _he thought, a bit giddily.

As he dressed, he hummed a tune from a loud song with too many words for its tempo, bouncing on his heels. He felt good. He felt ready.

"Well," Spike said aloud as he drove slowly through the city, the lights washing over his car, "aren't you a…shiny place?"

It didn't take long for him to find where most of the vamps nested here. Abandoned mills and industrial yards housed most of them in Ohio City near the Flats. The Hellmouth was near, he could feel it emanating out in the same way he had felt in Sunnydale.

_Sunnydale, Angel, Dru_.

Spike kept his mind on the task of finding himself some lackeys, ignoring all else. He hid his grief well—although it ached, red and raw within him—and drove through the abandoned yards with his music loud. Let them come and look at him, see if he cared.

Spike parked and wandered, flicking the butt of a cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. The scent of vampires was strong here. These were rough, wild, and paid too little attention to personal hygiene. The smells of blood, sweat, and sex were telling enough. Spike shuddered as he shifted into vamp-face with a wide grin. What fun was there unless he could give them a real show?

He stalked through the abandoned construction yard, just listening; staking it out. A nearby building would seem abandoned to human ears, but Spike could hear the softest scuff of movements beneath its surface and smell the distant scent of a vampire afraid. There was probably a basement or a bunker down there. He stepped through the threshold, a doorway sans door, and glanced around. The ground floor was empty and dilapidated.

Spike's boots crunched glass and wood from broken windows and frames as he stalked inside. Makeshift gray walls separated the bare outlines of rooms. One seemed to be smaller than the others and housed a flight of concrete stairs which led into a black abyss, an underground hideout that would have once been a basement.

"Oh dear, a big old black hole that leads to nowhere. Wonder what's lurking down there…" Spike said, tilting his head and squinting in an attempt to see down into the darkness. He considered a moment, then shrugged and began to descend.

Voices rang around him as the steps curved downwards. Spike paused on a landing and strained his ears before descending once more. Unlike the flight above, these stairs were lined with candles that someone had taken the time to mount on the walls.

The words grew clearer as he drew closer. A cacophony of voices tinged with anger and fear. And they were speaking of—

_Music to my ears. _

"This Slayer, man, she's tough!" one voice implored.

"Yeah, she's like, freaky strong," another piped up in nasally vehement agreement.

"She staked Ellis, blinded him first!"

"So," a crueler, darker voice said, its accent lilting and archaic, "you didn't see fit to attempt to capture her, to bring her to me?"

"We couldn't, Malum," the first voice replied. "She's wicked good. We barely got out of there in time."

"We had to skedaddle, man," the second said, "before she killed us too."

Spike rounded the corner to watch the scene unfold, lighting up a smoke and taking a long drag.

The room was nothing special, just an underground cavern held up by wooden beams; the barest beginnings of construction. It held a hodge-podge of scavenged items, folded lawn chairs, a battered couch, an old radio, and the like. The inhabitants lying about were something different to look at, and none more so than the vampire seated in a worn leather easy chair as if it were a throne.

His black hair was coarse and fell past his shoulders and his clothing almost made him melt into the dark; black jeans, black sweater, and a long black coat over it that buttoned up the front. He wore a silver pendant. The face he displayed was human, perhaps in his forties, lined but well cared for with a pointed chin and Roman nose. His hands were a different matter than his face. His nails were dark and curved, claw-like and inhuman where they grasped the arms of his chair and blended into the pasty skin of his fingertips

_Guess he's a golden oldie then, _Spike thought. _Hope he's not playing some tired tune. _

A small crowd of shadowed vampires stood behind him, snickering intermittently, and more lay sprawled on the dump-heap furniture. Two other vampires knelt before him, both decked out in biker bondage clothes and nineteen eighties mullets of various shades, fangs out and flashing.

_Odd little mix there, _Spike observed, tilting his head and taking it in. _Bit clashing with our old man. _

"In that case," the one called Malum said, his demonic face emerging with a snarl. "You must pay penance for your cowardice."

He produced two stakes from within his sleeves.

"No, Malum, please!" one said.

"Please, we didn't mean—"

He ignored their pleas and drove the stakes deep. The two vamps screamed as they burst into dust. The other acolytes hooted with laughter, slapping their knees and snorting.

Lackeys, if Spike ever saw any.

Spike gave a low whistle and strode into the room, flicking away his cigarette. "So, it didn't work out in that business arrangement, I venture. Tit for tat, I'm sure."

Two other hair metal rejects leapt up from behind Malum's throne and stood in front of him, snarling.

"Wait," the older vampire said. The lilt in his voice sounded European in origin, although it was difficult to place. Malum pushed his followers back to walk forward and they remained close, like bodyguards. He reminded Spike so much of the bloody Master that he almost went for his throat.

"Who are you?" Malum asked in scrutiny. He looked down at Spike, uncomfortably close. So close that Spike could count every individual grey hair mixed with the black that swung on either side of his face.

"Spike." He held his ground and Malum's gaze.

"And what, Mr.…_Spike_, are you doing here, in my city?" Malum asked, tilting his head so that those long dark strands showed his ears; bat-like and pointed.

"Got a good reason to be here, mate," Spike said. He broke away from Malum's stare and circled the eighties vamp-guards as he walked, cocky to the nines. "Heard you've got a Slayer problem."

"Yes, the girl," Malum said, raising clawed hands and tapping his fingertips together, rat-like. "She has been growing more and more of a nuisance. She's killed several of my best fighters since arriving in town. I'd hoped that she would choose my city as her new hunting ground, it's been far too long since I've had a Slayer around, and the timing is so right, almost _prophetic_…" He stopped his muttering and turned to Spike to admit, "She has become a terrible pest."

"Well," Spike said, pushing through the on-looking minions and throwing himself in Malum's throne. The followers jerked back and circled to face him and protect their leader at the same time. They were afraid of him. Spike lolled back with a confident smirk, legs splayed and fingers clutching the armrests, "I've done a couple of Slayers in my time, don't like to brag."

He laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands together before sitting up straight. "Who am I kidding? I _love_ to brag. Let me take care of this bird for you, rip her insides from her outsides—"

"The Slayer is _mine_," Malum interrupted in a fierce growl, "_I_ shall be the one to defeat her, I and I alone. She shall not die until I permit her to die. The Slayer's time to serve her purpose has not arrived yet, not until the Night."

"What happens on this night, then?" Spike asked, unable to keep from smirking a bit at the old man's melodrama. "I wager you're not throwing this girl a tea party."

"She dies," Malum said coldly. He smiled. "I kill her."

Spike pursed his lips and stood. "Therein lies a problem, mate. You see, I came here with the Slayer in mind, thought I'd be the one to take her out. Real bloodbath in mind, you know? Sort of imagined it as a solo kill. I don't do well with duets."

"Tell me why I should not smite you where you stand," Malum growled.

"Oh ho," Spike chuckled and raised his arms mockingly. "There's smiting now, is there?"

Malum produced those stakes once again from his sleeves and growled, advancing on him. "You try my patience, Mr. Spike."

"Hey, watch it with the wooden and pointy," Spike said, backing away. A thought occurred to him and he curled his lips up into a feral grin. "Tell you what, friend, let me catch this girl for you, rough her up a bit and bring her here. I get the satisfaction of knocking her about and then she's yours to do with what you like."

"You would bring her to me?" Malum asked, more warning than question.

"To you. She's yours to smite," Spike said, still smiling. Malum looked unconvinced and Spike tried for sincerity. "You put her pretty little heart out of commission, and I get to take her down in the bargain. We both get what we want, yeah?"

Malum considered for a moment. "And you have defeated Slayers before?"

"Twice," Spike affirmed, cocking his head. _Trust me. _"And you'll be buggered to find another bloke who can say the same. Take a chance on me, what harm can it do? All you've got to do is sign on the dotted line, metaphorically,of course. What do you say…we got ourselves a deal here?"

"All right, Mr. Spike," Malum said slowly, offering out a talon-tipped hand, "I believe we've reached an agreement."

"I believe we have," Spike said, shaking and drawing back. He stayed calm, but was barely able to keep from showing his excitement.

Malum turned and stalked back to his throne, sitting like a king. "Welcome to Cleveland, then. I look forward to you keeping up your end of the bargain."

_How stupid can you get? _Spike thought, _Slayer's mine, you stupid git. She's mine._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Next chapter Spike and Buffy meet! Please take the time to review, it would make me a very happy author.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **I told you I'd post early, didn't I? Here I am with the follow through, hope you enjoy!

Thanks so much to anyone who read and reviewed, followed, or made a favorite.

Another special thanks to All4Spike for the incredible beta work and to Boolochka06 for helping me to write a more realistic and believable Cleveland setting.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 8

Buffy fought not to cover her ears against the thundering beat of the music as she stepped into the dark and smoky room. She shrugged it off as best she could and decided to enjoy the noise. How long had it been since she'd felt this free? Not since the big move to Cleveland, that was for sure.

The club whose back alley the vampires had terrorized—a hole in the wall kind of place called Kinetic_—_was dimly lit. The only occasional brightness came in splashes of pink and orange from the lights above the low, empty stage. A sign advertised that a band called Unnatural History would play on Friday, but it was still crowded despite the lack of live music. The throng on the dance floor was thinning a bit, and most of the stools at the bar were empty, but the shadowed tables were crowded enough. Couples swayed in the corners, lost in each other.

Buffy didn't know what had led her here, but after the boozer-vamp search was a bust at the old motel, leaving her nothing to do but wander, the next thing she knew, she'd taken a bus ride Downtown, walked to this club, and got her hand stamped.

This place was asking for a stakeout.

_Huh, punny. _Stake_-out, _Buffy thought to herself. _I'm gonna remember that one. _

However, the longer she stood there by the bar, eyes locked on the dance floor, the more Buffy questioned her motives for showing up in the first place.

_There were vampires here before. Bad vampires, big with the killing, _she thought.

But Buffy knew that she mostly just wanted to forget her troubles, to lose herself for a minute and maybe get a good slay out of it too. _Not to mention the major Watcher-lecture I'm going to get for my lack of 'heeding' when I head home. _That thought made her groan. She glanced around the room for anything vampirey—old clothes, predatory glances, a feeling on the back of her neck._ Nothing; it's clean, _Buffy thought.

She smiled as the song changed to one she knew. The beat was slow and the music sweet. She moved a little in place, dancing alone, as something like happiness set in. She was young and free for the night, no Watcher to order her around. She almost felt like a normal teenager. The thought had her smiling brightly.

A guy at the edge of the dance floor looked her over and met her eyes, looking wicked interested. He was a college-aged Joe Regular with a clean shirt and a white smile. He grinned and saluted her with his drink, flashing those toothpaste commercial teeth. _Well, while I'm here…_Buffy thought. She gave him a little wave of acknowledgment and walked toward the dance floor.

The guy approached and took her hand to lead her into the crowd. She had almost forgotten how good that felt. Hand-holdage with a honey. It was almost as if she was Fiesta Queen again.

Buffy felt her heart race as those hands settled on her waist while hers clasped behind his neck.

She'd missed this.

Ms. Davies was going to be pissed. Somehow that made it even sweeter.

_I might as well have some fun._

* * *

"Nice night," Spike said to himself as he stalked between the lights of street lamps and the shadows of Cleveland's tallest buildings. "Stars shining all twinkly, birds twittering away, Slayer somewhere out there slaying …"

He'd be out there slaying too, if he could have one bloody moment alone.

But Spike wasn't alone. Four vampires stalked behind him, the click of their boots menacing on the concrete. Each minion was courtesy of the man with the nails, and ordered to follow Spike's orders during his stay in C-Town. They were to assist him in his capture of the Slayer, instructions from the big guy himself.

_Pfft, 'capture her' my ass, _Spike thought, rolling his eyes.

Spike knew why they were really with him. Malum didn't trust him. Until he gained that, he was stuck with these wankers haunting his every move. There'd be more where they came from too if he went trigger-happy and staked the lot. Claws might be all talk and no action when it came to Slayer-slaying, but he had no qualms where vampires were concerned, not to mention an army to back him up.

These losers had been with him the whole long walk from Malum's hang out in Ohio City, past clubs and bars, and onto one of Cleveland's light rails. They didn't say much to him, just waited about for orders, but they babbled enough to each other that Spike could gather they weren't too bright.

Spike balled up his fists in frustration. Time biding was not something he did well.

"The lot of you'd better hurry up if you want to eat some time before the bloody sun comes up," Spike ordered, his voice barely a low growl as they stalked through thick of the city.

Malum's boys grinned ear to ear at the prospect of getting their hands on something sweet to eat, but Spike's mind was elsewhere.

"So, tell me about this Slayer. Is she tough?" Spike asked.

"She's just a little thing. A five-foot-nothing twig. I could snap her like one too if she wasn't all strong and stuff," said the one with brown hair that was teased into a frizzy mess. He frowned and his eyes filled with fear. "Girl fights like Xena."

"Does she now?" Spike said.

"Yeah," Frizzy said with a shudder. "I have nightmares about it."

"And where's Xena likely to be found on a night like this? Not out with her chums, I reckon. A local cemetery somewhere out there? Maybe a cozy crypt, stake in hand? The usual haunts, I suppose," Spike said, the possibilities flooding his mind. His mouth watered.

"Nah, man. She could be anywhere. She's unpredictable_, _like a _whirlwind_ of danger," the vampire in the leather pants piped up. "One minute she's here, the next she's there. Like…like _lightning._"

"Electric little thing," Spike said, "Sounds sparky."

"Hey, don't think we don't know what you're thinking. Sorry, pal, but we don't go after the Slayer until Malum says we can go after the Slayer. Tonight, we're heading to Kinetic," another told him. "Should be safe there for a good feeding, and on the way back, we can bring something home to the king."

Spike growled impatiently in his throat. He could ditch them, go off and find the girl tonight. But then he'd have Talons on his back and his followers to boot, all with fangs set on his Slayer. At least through deception he had the upper hand, no matter how he was itching to find her.

"So, he's a kingly type, then? Big with the majesty and iron-fist? Orders you lay people about, I expect," Spike said.

"Oh yeah," frizzy-vamp affirmed, "He's got power, man. Malum's one with the mystical mojo."

Spike snorted before he could help himself and was still chuckling as the other vampires glared in disapproval. "Oh please," Spike said. "I say to hell with the mystic stuff."

"Yeah, well, watch what you say to the boss," Leather-Pants piped up, tossing his teased hair.

"I know, I know. He's a 'stake now, ask questions later' bloke," Spike said, dismissive.

The other vampires frowned and muttered, but fell in line behind him. _Long as their Big Man says it's my orders they're following, they follow, _Spike thought. _Just like sheep. Right fluffy too. _

Frizzy fell in step with Spike, trying to meet his eyes. He glanced around and leaned in close, his tone deadly serious. He whispered, "Look, you may be tough, but Malum…he knows how to _punish_. He'll figure you out before you know it. To have your greatest fears just laid out on the table like that…"

Spike felt that twisting in his chest that he was growing to associate with Drusilla's memory. He kept his gaze locked on the sidewalk before him, the lines of concrete passing beneath his feet and the shadows cast by buildings in the Public Square. He tilted his head and tried for bravado, but the words he spoke were truth. "I'm not afraid of anything, mate."

_Not anymore. _

Frizzy shook his head. "Maybe he can't get to you. But even if _he _can't…you haven't met the Slayer—"

Spike caught the vampire by the scruff of his neck and pulled his head back, coming to a dead stop. Frizzy's breath came in terrified pants as Spike held him in a death grip. The others looked on, silent and stoic.

"I've met enough of them. I know how these girls work. I kill 'em," Spike said, pulling just a little harder. "You'd do well to remember who I am and keep your fat gob shut about things that don't concern you. I don't want to hear bugger all about her again unless I tell you to sing me that ditty. 'm in charge here, understand?"

Frizzy whimpered, his unneeded breathing heavy as Spike placed his hands just right to rip his fuzzy head from his body. He released him and Frizzy fell back, fearfully. He didn't try to speak again.

Spike sniffed and turned to leave, business as usual. "Let's get something to eat."

* * *

Kinetic drenched the air around it with its quavering beat, invading Spike's ears and making his bones quake. A bright sign advertising the club's name hung high above the back entrance, one bulb flickering, and a stack of wooden crates sat in a pile beside the large industrial style door. Though very different, all Spike could think of was—

The Bronze.

Drusilla struggling in his arms, trying to escape him, to run, as he brought her inside, her protests falling on deaf, desperate ears.

_I don't like it._

_They'll split me, they'll make me break._

_Make it stop. _

Spike felt his throat close and his eyes sting. Oh, God, he'd forced her. He'd carried her to her death.

He growled and pushed the memory down, trying to keep his breathing normal as his bones crunched and his face changed. _She's gone, _he reminded himself, _Never ever coming back. _

"Hey, what's up with you, man?" Leather-pants asked.

Spike snarled and caught himself, nostrils flaring as he swallowed his tears, his face shifting back to human.

"Doing fine and dandy," he said brusquely. "Come on."

The bouncer at the door eyed them warily as they approached, each displaying their human face. Still, there was danger there that any ninny could see. Big and Beefy didn't even check ID.

The inside was murky, illuminated only by seldom flashing lights. People were trickling out in couples at this late hour, snuggling with their sweetie and smelling rich with desire. It was enough to made Spike's stomach practically twist with hunger.

His companions branched off as he walked through the club. The crowd on the dance floor was thin, but the booths were full of cuddlers. Spike stalked past tables and the bar, his eyes searching for a good meal as his stomach rumbled. It felt like ages since he'd eaten that maid.

A sleepy looking girl in a black dress sat by herself on a barstool. She stirred her drink and ran a hand through her dark hair, a little drunk and a little tired. She'd do.

Before Spike could move, a rough hand grabbed his arm and jerked him backwards.

"Hey, watch it," Spike said and shrugged the assailant away. Frizzy. Spike rolled his eyes. "Do you mind? I'm trying to get a sodding meal around here."

But Frizzy's eyes—now yellow beneath a ridged brow—were wide with stark fear.

"What?" Spike asked. Frizzy just shook his head. Spike poked his shoulder and slapped his ear, trying to get a reaction, but the vampire was unmovable, trembling. "Bloody hell. What is this, catatonia? Snap out of it—"

Frizzy cut him off with a horrified whisper, his mouth opened into a perfect 'o' of terror as he spoke the two words.

"She's here."

A delicious thrill ran up Spike's spine. If his heart worked, it would be careening. Excitement surged through him, anarchic and almost giddy. For a moment, he wanted to damn the consequences. But he had to control himself while being watched by the Fang Police.

He still wanted to see her, though.

Spike leaned in close to Frizzy's ear and whispered, "Where?"

Frizzy raised a shaky hand and pointed towards a couple facing away from them near an empty stage as the song changed. Spike moved forward until he stood at the edge of the dance floor. They turned and he got his first good look.

Just a girl.

A little blonde girl dressed in exercise pants and a tight tank, her hair a bit mussed and pulled back into a twist. The flashes of the club lights washed over her smooth skin, highlighting the sweep of her eyelashes, those soft hairs tickling the nape of her neck, the curve of her cheek. A single drop of sweat traced from the side of her throat down between her breasts.

Her partner seemed a bit lost in her, as if he couldn't believe his luck at having a girl on his arm so young and pretty, but the Slayer didn't seem to notice. She raised her arms above her head and her pouty lips turned up into a half-smile.

She moved gracefully, every little motion speaking of underlying strength. That shift of her feet on the downbeat, the way she laid a hand over the back of the college boy's neck as he placed his hands on her hips. Everything held power. This girl was a warrior in every move. Though she had a partner, she wasn't dancing with him. Not really. Spike wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't know the poofter's name. She was by herself, lost in her own world. She looked grateful just to be there.

Spike shivered against his will and realized he was staring. He shook it off, ready to put his plan in motion.

_Ducks, this is for you._

Spike didn't realize he was moving until he'd circled the floor and tapped the shoulder of the boy behind her. The Nance didn't turn. Spike did again, more insistently.

"What do you want?" the boy snapped, turning and releasing his hold on the Slayer. She ignored them. She didn't even look.

"Sod off," Spike said.

The boy's face reddened angrily. "Wha—?"

Spike let the bones in his face shift and grinned with his fangs bared. The boy backed away slowly and ran when he thought he was far enough to escape, tripping over his own feet. Spike snickered at the sight.

The Slayer had already danced away, still moving in soft undulations to the music as she went through the crowd. Spike followed her, circling until he was close enough to touch, standing right behind her. Breathing her in. Every detail seemed sharper there; each individual hair, colored Clairol blond, the movement of her shoulder blades beneath her tan skin, and the strong supple muscle of her back where her tank dipped low. Lights played over that silky flesh, coloring it like a sunset. Rising and falling again and again in time with her breath. The scents of her shampoo and some fruity soap were in his nose. Spike could feel the heat rising from her like the warmest sunshine.

His chest felt constricted, his breathing was hard.

_Dancing with death, _he thought.

Arousal hit him like a sucker punch, surprising him with something almost like disgust. Dru's dust was barely settled and he—It was normal, Spike assured himself. _It is, _he insisted.

He breathed in another breath of that heady Slayer-scent and backed away.

The Slayer tensed as he retreated to the edge of the dance floor. _Come on, kitten, you know you want to—_

She followed.

_Good girl. _

Spike watched as the Slayer sought him out; following that inherent sense they all seemed to have. She pushed through the crowd behind him, eliciting curses from the jostled patrons. He circled around her and watched as she gathered herself, feeling him out, and turned in his direction. There was something deadly and thrilling in her expression. It sent sharp chills running up his spine.

Spike paused at the door, making sure that it was in her line of vision before he walked out. The Slayer caught sight of it swinging shut, creaking metal beneath the thundering beat from the club speakers. The last thing Spike saw was her, pushing through the mass. One little spot of sunshine in all that darkness.

Outside, Malum's four boys stood in a nervous crowd, jittery and awaiting orders. They looked ready to run.

Spike grabbed Leather-Pants by his ear and pulled him to the door, positioning him in front of it. He tried to push him off, but Spike held strong.

"Hey, get off of me! What are you—?"

"You're gonna give me a show," Spike instructed. He gestured to the others to follow him into a more shadowed part of the alleyway.

Leather-Pants stood still, scratching his head and glancing around.

_Not the sharpest tool in the set, now is he? _Spike thought.

The industrial door swung open and the girl emerged, eyes narrowed and fixing on Leather-Pants where he stood in the center of the alley.

"Wha—? Slayer!"

She whipped a stake out of the waistband of her pants and gave a sarcastic sigh.

"Great, you know who I am. Now we can skip the introductions and get right to the part where I put this stake through your chest," the Slayer said.

Spike felt a smile tugging at his lips.

Leather-Pants let out a battle cry and threw himself at her. The Slayer dodged and swept his feet out from under him. He flung himself upright from braced arms and swung.

The Slayer caught his punch in the jaw, but she countered with an even stronger one, sending him crashing into the brick of the building.

He snarled and ran for her, hands outstretched before swinging his leg up to kick that pretty nose.

The Slayer grunted, but spun, blocking his next kick and returning it with two more. One knocked him off his feet, the other sent him back and against the wall before he even hit the ground.

"You know, this has been fun and all. This 'getting to know you' stuff," she said and caught the collar of his jacket. She held him up, pinned to the wall like a wriggling bug. "But don't take this personally. It's not you, it's me."

Leather-Pants' eyes bugged wide as she drove the stake home.

Spike grasped Frizzy by the collar and threw him the Slayer's way as he waved his hands in protest.

She whipped around at lightning speed. Frizzy had the advantage and managed to land two clumsy punches. Girl shrugged them off like they were flies.

"Now, come on," she said between strikes as if lecturing a small child, sending Frizzy falling back on his ass. "I thought I'd explained to your friend—"

Frizzy kicked her legs out from under her and the Slayer fell, her stake rolling away.

He reached down and took hold of her arms, lifting her up. For just a moment, she looked like what he had described. A short, skinny girl struggling against a big bad vampire. Frizzy jerked her back against his chest. His hand went over her mouth, muffling her grunts of exertion.

"This is for Malum," Frizzy said, giddy and overconfident enough that his grip slipped.

She swung a leg up high, striking Frizzy's face.

He howled in pain and threw her, stumbling back and clutching his broken nose. The Slayer landed hard, crashing into that pile of crates. A knowing smile bloomed on her face as she sat in the shattered wood.

_Would you look at that,_ Spike thought.

The Slayer grasped one of the larger shards just as Frizzy dived for her, and staked him.

She stood and dusted off vampire remains and splintered wood from her outfit.

"Stupid vampires, always too dusty for their own…"

Spike clapped and the Slayer tensed, reaching for her improvised stake.

"…good," she finished, holding it aloft.

"I've gotta say, love, I'm impressed," Spike said, stepping into her line of vision and smiling with human teeth. He stood opposite her, thumbs hooked in his belt, head cocked. "You've got some moves. Good ones, too."

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a cool once over.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Spike smirked, eyes narrowed. He chuckled. "The one who's going to kill you."

The Slayer smirked and held the stake a little higher. "You wanna make a wager on that?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. Like I said you've got something. You're…resourceful."

She rolled her eyes again—_funny they don't stick that way—_and crossed her arms, still tense. "Are we gonna talk all night, or are we gonna fight?"

"Spike!"

"Bollocks," he cursed in a whisper.

"Friends of yours?" the Slayer asked. She gripped her stake pointedly. "Think they'll wanna join the party?"

Spike stepped closer. Not close enough to stake, or even to touch, just enough so that he could look her over.

"Spike, we have to go," one shouted.

"Orders, man!" the other added.

"Wankers," Spike said in a low growl.

The Slayer raised her stake, her expression mildly amused.

"This isn't over," Spike said.

It went against every natural instinct to turn in that moment and back away.

She stared, her eyes dark and deadly where they held his. Only when he reached the mouth of the alleyway and turned to run did Spike hear her follow. Thundering Slayer-footfalls raced behind him as he followed Malum's lackey's out of that alley and into traffic, dodging cars just as the light turned green.

Spike paused on the other side of the street and looked back. The Slayer stood at the curb's edge, bathed in the light from the buildings above, stake aloft, and staring murderously.

He took one last look and turned to go.

No, this wasn't over.

_Far bloody from._

* * *

**Author's Note: **If you could, please leave a review, they make a very happy author.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Betaed by All4Spike.

I would like to thank everyone for taking the time to leave such lovely reviews. Another thanks to those of you who've followed or made a favorite.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 9

Grounded.

Buffy was seriously grounded_. _

Not that Ms. Davies would ever actually _use_ the word 'grounded'—she was stuck with 'Intensive Training' following her little act of civil disobedience, more commonly referred to as 'trying to have a life'.

Buffy was confined to her room, apart from late night hours in which she was sent out on patrol and expected home by a certain time. She dealt with it with as much petulance and reluctance as any self-respecting teen; with passive aggressiveness and dirty looks galore. Still, Buffy didn't push the envelope where the rules were concerned, not if it meant that she could still have this over sooner rather than later. The punishment for returning home late while on Watcher-parole hadn't been discussed yet, but Buffy figured it would be more of the 1950's parenting style sentence. She didn't think she could stomach that.

Worse still, school was approaching fast. Like, less than two weeks and it would be here fast. Then Buffy would be back in the life of social outcastdom, difficult classes, and bad cafeteria food for such a snobby place. Buffy had never dreaded school like this before in her life. The feeling was foreign and made her feel sick and palm-sweaty. She hated it.

At least she had patrolling as a distraction. Ms. Davies could punish her all she liked; she had forgotten to take away that one escape. It didn't matter if Buffy was restricted to a few slaying locations, it was still enough. The sweet satisfaction of feeling a vampire turn to dust when her stake went through its heart, or for a demon's bones to snap with her hands around its neck made it worthwhile. As long as Buffy was out slaying every night, she had some kind of freedom.

Two sharp raps on her door startled Buffy out of her journaling. She shut her diary hastily and tucked it under her mattress before leaning back on the bed and crossing her legs out in front of her, trying to look casual.

"Come in," Buffy said.

Ms. Davies entered and glanced around the room—now strewn with more things of Buffy, like a few posters from that shop in Solon that she'd tacked up by her window and that pile of stylish clothing beside the closet, defiantly out of reach of the hamper. It wasn't much, but it made Buffy feel more as if she had a choice in all of this. Little pieces of rebellion.

Ms. Davies cleared her throat, "Miss Summers, if you would come down stairs. We have information to discuss."

Buffy gave her a bitter smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sure, let's get informy."

She stood and followed Ms. Davies out and into the hall. "Is it about our new resident bad guys?"

Buffy's thoughts fell to that vampire with the bleached hair and those eighties dorks who had confronted her in that alley. The miniony ones, Buffy could deal with. They were almost laughably non-threatening. But, new-boy was a different matter.

There was something unsettling about that vampire. _Well, for one thing, he ruined my dancing fun time, _Buffy thought with a pout. She hadn't even had a chance to get the cute-smile guy's phone number before he scared him away.

But it was more than that, it ran deeper. The other vampires were scared of her; of the Slayer. Oh sure, they'd try to fight her. Some would even seek her out, looking for her head on a plate for some dumb reason or another. But even when they made a big show of bravado, they had fear in their eyes. Spike—what his minion-types had called him—did not.

The way he had stared at her, his eyes had done more than pierce, they had mangled...

Something primal in her chest twisted in rage.

He wasn't afraid.

Spike was eager, and Buffy was more than uneasy.

At least now she might get some answers.

* * *

"I've known some of this information since before your untimely disobedience, Miss Summers, and the rest of it is a recent acquisition that was sent to me by the Council," Ms. Davies confirmed. Buffy clenched her fists and hid them at her sides. Ms. Davies continued, "This Malum is the vampire for whom these—what did you call them?"

"Head-bangey types," Buffy said.

"Head bangers are working for," Ms. Davies said, rolling the words in her mouth as though they were something with a nasty taste. Buffy wished she'd had a camera for that one.

"What is up with these losers and their Latin names?" Buffy asked. She paused, tilting her head. "That is Latin, right?"

"Yes, Miss Summers."

They sat in the living room, with Ms. Davies' research laid primly on the table between her chair and Buffy's couch.

"So, what's this guy's M.O? I mean, I'm sure he's a big bad and all, but the vamps he's sent after me are like a new low of pathetic, and I've fought demons that kept house cats and got cable wired into their caves," Buffy said.

Ms. Davies pushed her glasses up her nose and leafed through the pile of thin, yellowing paper covered in carefully scrolling ink, written in a language that Buffy couldn't read. "I'm quite positive that this 'Malum' for whom the…head bangers are working is the same as your vampire 'king' of months past."

She had expected as much. "And he _is_ a vampire?"

"Yes, Miss Summers."

"I knew it," Buffy said in a self-satisfied voice, leaning back into the couch.

"Don't take this lightly. The more I learn of this resident evil, the more concerned I grow," Ms. Davies said.

"Why? If all he's going to do is send some lame-o's out to kill me—"

"He does not wish to kill you, Miss Summers," Ms. Davies said, leafing through her piles of research once more.

Buffy sat up a little straighter at that. "Then, what does he want to do?"

"He does not wish to kill you _yet_."

Buffy frowned. "And translated from Cryptic to our more standard English, that would mean…?"

Ms. Davies found the right paper and said, "We believe that this Malum is a vampire of Ancient Roman origin. There are records of some such vampire with similar patterns in multiple texts that I have come across. He was a patrician, according to the Council's best knowledge, one of the Roman bourgeoisie, if you will, and very invested in the black arts."

"A warlock in life and a vampire now?" Buffy asked for confirmation.

"Precisely," Ms. Davies said, "and it only grows more unpleasant from there."

Buffy frowned a little, unsettled.

"The Council's records state that the Slayer at the time of Augustus, around the year two B.C.E, was pitted against this Malum. She was taken hostage by his workers, vampires whom he had sired ten years prior to the event."

"And what's the event?" Buffy wished that her voice didn't sound so concerned.

"A ritual sacrifice," Ms. Davies said. "The details are rather obscure, and my Latin is not so extensive to allow me fully to comprehend such an antiquated style as this, but the Slayer was to die in a ritual sacrifice atop a Hellmouth. A minor one somewhere in Germania, if I'm not mistaken. She was held by Malum and his followers, starved, tortured, and prepared for the sacrificial rite."

"What…" Buffy sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying for nonchalant. "What happened to her?"

"The context is rather muddled, but she seems to have escaped before he could begin the ritual," Ms. Davies said. She found another thin stack of papers and looked them over. "There was another such incident in the year nine hundred and ninety-eight. A Slayer whose origins lie in what is now Turkey, I believe."

"And she—?"

"Was rescued by the Watcher's Council, much like her predecessor," Ms. Davies said. "There's very little information on the ritual in the Council's notes. It simply states that Malum must be the one to sacrifice the Warrior of the People. His followers were unworthy to touch her, once held, and so on. It's all rather vague. The end result of such a sacrifice is as unclear as any, but I suspect, and my colleagues concur, that it would most likely open the Hellmouth, releasing torment and unspeakable torture upon the Earth."

"So, Latin Mc Lame Name wants to sacrifice me and unleash hell?" Buffy said. "There's one I haven't heard before." Buffy paused, hands twisting in her lap. She cleared her throat. "And if I happen to see him at the supermarket, he would look like…?"

Ms. Davies was rustling those papers again, in search of the right one.

"According to my records from the tenth century, in a more extensive codex, Malum's hands are clawed. He has talons, if you will. They may be the reason that we have not seen him emerge from his hiding place. They make him too noticeable," Ms. Davies said. "They may be a result of his age, or perhaps his magics; who's to say?"

"Is this all we know about him?" Buffy asked, hiding her apprehension behind a mask of calm certainty.

"For now, yes," Ms. Davies said, lowering her glasses. "I would encourage extreme caution when interacting with any of these vampires whom we know are in league with him."

Buffy nodded. "Okay."

A sacrifice. Some minions wanted to capture her and sacrifice her, like she was a goat or something.

She frowned.

_Who are you? _

_The one who's going to kill you. _

Something didn't add up.

"What about this Spike guy? Anything on him?" Buffy asked.

Ms. Davies frowned and polished her glasses with a tiny scrap of fabric from her coat's pocket. "I have my suspicions about his possible identity. Consequently, I have informed the Council of your assessment of him and his description. If they have any information regarding him, they will let me know. You may return to your room, Miss Summers."

She gathered up her research and stood to leave.

"It's just," Buffy said and Ms. Davies stopped, "he said he was going to kill me."

Ms. Davies gave her a patronizing look. "Miss Summers, if the thought of a vampire stating that he is out for your blood disturbs you so, perhaps you should—"

"No, I mean," Buffy interrupted. She searched for the right words. "Spike said that _he_ was going to kill me. If he's really working for this Claw the Vampire guy, why would he think that _he_ gets to do the honors?"

Ms. Davies raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, and his clothes," Buffy continued, a little excited by her observation. "He wasn't dressed like the other minions. What did you say before…? Turned ten years prior to the ritual? Spike was dressed, well, kind of like those guys that my mom used to listen to in the seventies, and said she didn't—but at the same time, he was more like, 'in the now'. No metal-headiness. Something doesn't fit. I don't think that he's working for this guy."

Ms. Davies frowned and leaned back, her hands clasped in her lap. "Perhaps he's working 'with' him rather than 'for' him."

* * *

"Your insolence is trying, Mr. Spike."

Spike frowned and flopped back down onto his lawn chair, legs splayed, and popped open a bottle of beer. Nasty American stuff that the lackeys drank. He downed a quarter of it in one gulp just to spite them. "Yeah, well, Slayer's been away from her usual haunts. The ones that _you_ told me to check for her, by the way. Been a whole bloody week since I last saw her."

_And the anticipation certainly isn't killing her here,_ Spike thought. Nobody was, not with the boss man's boys watching his every move even more closely since the run in with the girl.

Malum frowned from his throne, his yellow eyes filled with anger. "She must be trying to throw us off the scent, as you say. To keep us in the dark."

Spike laughed and took a swig from the bottle. "Or, she's an indecisive little teeny bopper and never slays in the same place twice."

_Bet she dances at a different place every night too, stringing along all sorts of unworthy blokes like tall, dim, and toothy, _Spike thought, the memory of that lithe little body swaying to some sodding top forty hit was lodged in his memory. He took another drink.

"This could be," Malum mused. Spike's ribs hurt from not laughing at that look on his face.

"When do you need her, oh great Acrylic king?" Spike asked casually, taking another drink.

Malum's minions glared at him from their various perches around the underground hideaway, one turned up his radio, blasting the Crüe.

The insult went over Malum's greasy head.

"I need her as soon as is possible."

* * *

"One, two, three," Ms. Davies counted, "Again."

Buffy blocked each quarter staff blow from Ms. Davies as they went through late-night training in the basement. They were into hour two by now and Buffy was pleased to see beads of sweat on her usually prim and proper Watcher's forehead. _I'll just hit a little harder, _Buffy thought, a bit guilty with her satisfaction, _only a little. _

"Why are we counting these out, again?" Buffy asked, delivering an extra hard blow that sent Ms. Davies stumbling backwards and Buffy's inner-rage secretly cheering. "Aren't I supposed to be stealthy?"

Ms. Davies delivered one final blow, which Buffy blocked, holding her ground, unmovable.

"The point of this, Miss Summers, is not stealth. It is skill," Ms. Davies said, retreating to the wall where all the weapons hung, but not before taking a long drink of water. "You are counting them to develop a rhythm."

"But my skills will be hampered if I count out loud when vampires attack me," Buffy said. Ms. Davies made that sour, unamused face that she wore each time she heard a joke. Buffy fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeesh, I'm kidding. I know that there will only be silent counting in life or death situations." She paused. "There may have been a little bit of kidding in that sentence too."

There was a tic in Ms. Davies' cheek.

_Good. _

"Kidding and slaying do not go hand in hand," Ms. Davies said. "Bluntly stated, that kind of thinking will get you killed. You must be unreadable, Miss Summers. A well-trained force with a cool head. A Slayer must always—"

The doorbell rang in a loud clear jingle. It startled Ms. Davies out of a boring speech and Buffy out of her fury at Watcher-induced house arrest.

Ms. Davies frowned at the noise and turned to Buffy as it rang again. "Miss Summers, take your break now. We'll reconvene here in fifteen minutes."

Buffy watched as Ms. Davies climbed the stairs, looking curious and a little annoyed, but altogether surprised to hear someone calling. Buffy stood for a moment, and then followed. It wasn't as though she had anything more interesting to do.

She made her way down the short hall and into the kitchen, in search of some water and maybe a snack. Buffy rummaged around in the refrigerator, silently reminding herself to go buy food she could hide in her room and eat, once she was sprung. There was only so much of this Watcher stuff that she could take. It was a little too British for her palate.

_Oh, hey. Carrots, _Buffy thought, _healthful. _

She could hear Ms. Davies' heels clicking on the wooden floor and the sound of her opening the door in the foyer.

"Mrs. Summers."

Judging by her voice, Ms. Davies was stunned. Buffy's heart leapt to her throat in a choking lump.

Buffy dropped the bag of carrot sticks back in the open drawer and let the fridge swing shut against it with a soft thud. What had began as a walk was almost a brisk run as she rounded the hall. Buffy stopped in the arch of the foyer, breathing in a sharp breath.

The sight in the doorway almost choked her with happiness and relief. She dared to let that hope bubble up inside of her that for once everything might be okay. Buffy stared, eyes wide, fighting off a wave of something strong and heady in her chest. She felt that something swell and wondered if she would burst with it as a smile bloomed in the corners of her mouth.

"Mom."

"Hi, Buffy," Joyce replied.

"Mrs. Summers," Ms. Davies said, caught entirely off-guard. "What are you doing here?"

Joyce smiled and met Buffy's eyes once before settling her gaze back on Ms. Davies.

"I'm here for my daughter."

* * *

**Author's Note: **More Spike/Buffy interaction next chapter. For now, please enjoy this lovely cliff hanger. Next chapter coming soon, feel free to review, I love reading your thoughts on the story.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **I would like to thank everyone who left reviews, followed, or made a favorite.

Betaed by All4Spike.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 10

"Mom," Buffy said again.

She walked into the foyer slowly just as Joyce entered the room and Buffy threw her arms around her for a hug. Buffy was still for the briefest of moments before she screwed her eyes shut and squeezed her mother tight.

If she was hugging too strongly, Joyce didn't seem to notice. Instead, she simply rubbed Buffy's back in soothing circles. "Hi, honey, how are you?"

Buffy pulled back, searching for the right words.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but, what are you doing here?"

"Yes, Mrs. Summers, this is certainly a surprise," Ms. Davies said. For a moment she looked something close to horrified. It melted down to shock and dissipated back into her usual cool demeanor.

"Well, I was starting to feel like quite the neglectful mom. I had arranged a meeting in about a week with a man in Bedford Heights who's selling his gallery for a bargain price. You know how it's so much better to buy rather than start from scratch when starting a new business."

"Yes. Yes, of course," Ms. Davies said, sounding a bit dazed.

"But I decided not to wait and figured I'd hop on a plane and come see my little girl. It was very impulsive, more impulsive than I've been in a long time, but I just couldn't resist," Joyce explained. "I called him when I got here and he pushed the meeting up to two days from now."

"That's great," Buffy said.

"So, while I'm here, I thought I'd take Buffy shopping for some back to school clothes," Joyce said. "It's still early enough, right?" she turned to Buffy. "Malls don't close here at an entirely different time, do they?"

"No, malls here run on mall time," Buffy affirmed.

"Good. Why don't you stay the night with me at the hotel tonight, Buffy? I can drive you to school in the morning; send you off for your big first day. What do you say?" Joyce asked.

"I say definitely," Buffy answered.

"That is, if you don't already have plans," Joyce said, looking from Buffy to Ms. Davies.

"No. No plans," Buffy interjected before her Watcher could explain the 'grounded' situation. "We're planless. Really."

"I believe that sounds like a novel idea, Mrs. Summers," Ms. Davies said primly, cool firmly back in place. Buffy felt her eyebrows raise in surprise. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a call. I will see you when you return, Buffy."

"See you," Buffy said, wigging a little at the sound of her name on her Watcher's lips.

With that, Ms. Davies was climbing the stairs at a brisk pace.

"She seems like she's in a hurry," Joyce said.

"Yeah, really," Buffy agreed. _I guess she just can't stand to see me happy. _

"Well, go get your stuff, hon," Joyce prompted with a smile. "Shopping trip on me, remember?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Buffy said.

* * *

The Galleria at Erieview was crowded for a Sunday night; people drawn out by the cool pleasant weather of early September then lured into the mall by the bright lights and sale prices. Buffy walked through the racks of clothing, enjoying the feel of one shopping bag already on her arm and looking forward to more.

"See anything here that you like here?"

Buffy smiled, picking up a lavender shirt and replacing it. "This is pretty…it might seem prettier though if you'd let me buy that outfit from the last store."

Joyce gave a disapproving, but affectionate smile. "You are not buying that outfit."

"Why not? I looked really cute in that top," Buffy said, holding a peasant top against her body and checking it out in the mirror. She replaced it.

"Buffy, hookers would agree with me that the top showed too much skin," Joyce said.

"Well, yes, okay," Buffy conceded, "…but they'd also agree that I looked cute in it."

Joyce rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're opinions are unmovable."

"Yup, unmovy, that is me," Buffy said.

Surprise nighttime mall trips solved all emotional damage, Buffy was sure. Everything which had become harsh and churning within her felt light and bubbly, all over good. The surprise visit and subsequent back to school shopping were almost enough to make Buffy forget about the first day the next morning.

Still, it was perfect having her mom with her again. School might be bearable if Joyce was there to greet her when she got home.

"So you really think this one might pan out? For real this time?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, Buffy, I really do," Joyce said. "It's not over yet. There's the licensing and the insurance and—I'm completely boring you with these details," she said when she caught sight of the look on Buffy's face, "but they have to be done, and I can't leave my job until I know that they are."

"I get it," Buffy said.

"But soon," Joyce assured her. "I'm really hopeful about this one, you know. The gallery's been in his family for years, so it's a big step for him to finally sell it and he's going to be really picky about to whom, but I think I'm someone he can trust with this place."

"I know you are."

Buffy received a warm smile from her mother and went back to perusing, pulling a pair of jeans from a display pile.

"You've grown up a lot," Joyce said in observance. Her voice was soft, but the remorse was clearly painted on her face. "I've been away for so long, but there's something…You've changed."

"Not so much," Buffy said, unsure of why the sentiment bothered her so deeply, "I'm the same old me."

"Yes, but you're…older," Joyce said. She gave Buffy a soft, guilt-ridden smile. "I feel like I've abandoned you and here you are, getting older without me." Joyce chuckled, but it was humorless. "It doesn't feel right. I should watch you grow up."

Could her mother see it? The way that she had to think things through now? To always be so diligent? She used to laugh more, Buffy knew she did. She felt brittle and more than a little aged after all this time in Cleveland alone.

Buffy frowned with a swallow and tried to smile. "Harder, you mean. Me, I seem harder."

Joyce tried to read her expression and Buffy shook her head.

"Buffy, what…?"

"Nevermind, it's just…" Buffy stopped and tried to find the right words. She could only sigh. A warm hand squeezing her shoulder brought her back to reality.

"Buffy, there's nothing wrong with growing up a little," Joyce said.

Buffy knew she was right, but it still nagged at her. Fear was there, fear of being alone. Of Slayerness. Of losing herself to that warrior-girl just beneath the surface.

"What if I don't like who I grow into?" Buffy asked in a small voice.

Joyce looked her over with motherly concern. She raised a hand to cup her cheek. "You can't know that. But even if you don't, you know that I'll always love you, no matter what."

Buffy gave a shaky smile and nodded her head. "I know."

"And I don't want to spend another minute alone in Los Angeles without you," Joyce said. When Buffy met her eyes, she knew she meant it.

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked.

Joyce swallowed and said. "It means that I'm going to put the house up for sale, whether or not Bedford Heights works out. I'll find something else, I'll have to. I don't want to miss anymore of this, of you."

"Really?" Buffy asked, feeling a hopeful smile creep onto her lips.

"Really, I mean it, Buffy. This is going to happen," Joyce said. She gave Buffy a small smile. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Buffy agreed. She sniffed and was silent for a moment, letting warmth rush through her. It melted away some of the coldness and bitterness that had built up inside and left sunshine in its wake. Buffy turned back to the clothing before her, a smile on her face.

* * *

"So, a skirt, two pairs of jeans, cute frilly cardigan, a blouse, three tanks," Buffy counted off as they wandered through the mall, "and two pairs of shoes. If I wasn't so giddy, I'd warn you to ease up before you go mom-overboard."

"I can't help it," Joyce admitted, "I'm spending my guilt away."

"Hey, I'm not complaining here," Buffy said, enjoying the heavy feel of her shopping bags in her hand.

"So, what are you in the mood for, mall food or room service?" Joyce asked. "If mall food's your choice, you'd better speak up. It'll be closing soon."

Buffy wrinkled her nose with a short laugh and threw a glance to the sparsely populated tables of the food court. "Tough choices. I'm thinking—"

A high scream pierced the air.

Buffy turned to see patrons and workers alike running away from the nearest entrance. One woman held a bleeding wound on her neck and stumbled dizzily as she fled. A nearby man took her elbow and helped her along, throwing frightened glances over his shoulder.

"What is it? What's going on?" Joyce asked.

All around them, shoppers ran and screamed, shoving each other out of the way.

"It's a gang!" one man said. "There's a gang, I think they have knives. They went for her throat!"

_Whoever could that be?_ Buffy thought.

The humans were clearing out and up ahead, Buffy could see a small crowd approaching, fronted by a familiarly white head.

"Mom, run."

"Buffy, what—?"

Buffy turned to her and handed her the shopping bags. "Run, I'll explain on the way."

Joyce waited a moment, searching Buffy's face. Buffy turned back and saw one of the lackey vampires grab a store-worker, her fangs slicing through the girl's neck like butter before she sucked.

"Go!"

Joyce turned, taking Buffy's hand and pulling.

_You'll be okay, mom. Now all I've got to do is find a way to go back and do what I do best. _

All around them, people were fleeing. They were crowding into the exits and shoving their way through the doors. As they were pushed, people fell to the side and scrambled back in hope of an opening, fear driving them. At just the right moment, Buffy felt one such shove from a nearby barista and let go of her mother's hand.

"Buffy?" Joyce said, still being pushed through the exit.

Buffy fought against the crowd, letting herself get lost.

"Buffy!"

She could see her mother swallowed up by the crowd and pushed through the door. She was safe outside.

Once Buffy was free enough, she turned and ran. She knew if she kept on long enough, she would see them.

And there, waiting for her by the food court, were Spike and a gang of vamps.

Spike stood cocksure and grinning. The corpse of a girl with a nametag pinned to her shirt lay at his feet. Her throat was torn and blood pooled and trickled in the small crevices between the tiles, painting the floor in red-lined squares. The girl's eyes were still open and staring. She looked young. Her whole life had been ahead of her and it had been unjustly stolen by someone without the right to take such control. The unfairness of it all sent Buffy's blood boiling.

_Spike, you are going down. _

"Slayer. So we meet again," Spike said, baring his fangs in a mockery of a smile.

"So we do," Buffy said, pacing before him. She tossed her hair back and made eye contact, hazel to yellow, showing him she wasn't afraid. "But, I don't usually see the evil undead frequenting the food court. I'm sure you have a reason to be here that you're just dying to tell me about."

"What can I say? Saw you come in and I couldn't resist," Spike replied.

"Oh, so you're stalking me now?" Buffy asked. Her mind was searching frantically for something to use as a stake. The one she'd brought when she left the house was in her overnight bag at the hotel.

"Maybe a little," Spike said. He tilted his head toward the small crowd of vampires behind him. "Go find something tasty."

The eighties losers grinned and started to run. The first six went off in every direction, out of the line of fire, fear on their faces, but three charged her.

"Not the girl!" Spike shouted. "She's mine, you stupid—"

The rest of his words were lost to her. Buffy was already in fight-mode. She struck out and flipped one onto his back, her heel coming down on his leg. Something cracked and he screamed, rendered immobile.

Buffy ducked down before the others could choose their next move, swinging her leg out to trip one of his buddies. He slid on his belly across the floor and crashed hard through the glass window display of a clothing store, scattering broken shards and toppling mannequins. The last vampire she caught under the arms and threw. He spiraled through the air and landed hard on a wooden bench. It splintered.

One large broken piece pierced his chest at the perfect angle.

He opened his eyes wide in fear and burst into dust.

"Hey, look," Buffy said cheerfully. Her voice dropped back to sarcastic as she said, "Weapons."

She grabbed the nearest jagged piece and staked the injured vampire still wailing on the floor, then started out in a run toward his dazed friend in the window display.

"Slayer!" the vampire snarled. He moved to a crouch, hands out and ready to grab her.

Buffy anticipated his move, crunching shards of glass as she ran. Instead of engaging him, she dived over his head in a flip and turned, staking his back in one fluid motion.

"Not fair—" he said as he dusted.

Overhead the lights flickered and died, leaving them in half-darkness illuminated only by the lights of buildings and moonlight outside, shining through the curved glass roof.

_I guess it's closing time, _Buffy thought.

Spike smirked at her, but there was admiration there, all the same. "You're tricky."

Buffy jumped out of the ruined display and gave him her coldest look. "Nah, I'm not that hard to figure out, really."

"No, maybe not," Spike said. He was still grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He gestured to the pile of what had been the bench. "Don't think I've forgotten you and your clever little crate. I have seen that one before, love."

"Yeah?" Buffy asked, striding forward. "Seen this one too?"

He ducked her punch, laughing. The bastard was laughing. Buffy swung again and struck his face. Spike snarled and she kicked him hard in the gut, making him stumble back. This time he returned the blow, his fist making contact with her cheekbone.

_That's gonna leave a mark, _Buffy thought. It stung badly enough.

She didn't let it keep her down. Buffy kneed his stomach and elbowed his face when he flashed those teeth her way. He howled and pulled back.

Emboldened by his injury, Buffy reached down and picked up one of the larger pieces of bench and swung it. Spike grunted as it hit his head. Once, then twice. On her third swing, he caught it and snapped it in his hand.

"Tell me you're gonna do better than that," Spike said. Buffy was breathing heavily, staring up at him with all the fury she could muster. That only seemed to excite him more. Spike bounced on his heels. "Come on, Slayer, gimme all you got."

Buffy threw herself at him. He hadn't expected that kind of attack and caught her round the waist as he fell onto his back. Spike's legs were beneath her mid-section. He kicked up and sent Buffy in a skyward arc. She landed hard, skidded across the floor and crashed hard into the wall. Buffy rose slowly. Thin shards of glass pierced and prickled her arm where she fell and she was sure she would bruise.

Spike, however, stood in a flurry of coat and pissed-off energy.

He stalked toward her and threw a punch. Buffy caught his fist and held it, wanting to cause him some kind of pain as she squeezed his knuckles. His eyes only sparkled, lustful for the kill.

"Why'd you come here, Spike?" she asked. "Did you just feel like messing up my life some more? Making it harder on Buffy?"

He cocked his head. "Buffy?" he repeated, not bothering to hide a disdainful note.

Buffy punched him hard, making him grunt out a note of pain.

"Well, you shouldn't have come," Buffy said, sending a vicious kick to his stomach that made him double over and groan. "Because now, you have to deal with me."

Spike perked up and caught her hand before she could deliver another blow. "Counting on it, Slayer."

Buffy shoved him toward the escalator. It was still on. Spike laughed as she followed him by holding the moving rails on either side to deliver two sharp kicks to his face.

Spike countered with a flurry of punches that Buffy tried her best to block from her awkward angle. They were too into the fight now for banter or pauses. This was to the death, all or nothing.

And for a moment, Buffy was afraid she might lose.

She could see it in his face, the hunger for the kill, the determination. The thought crossed her mind that he might beat her and for a moment she believed he could.

She pushed that thought aside and hit him hard.

When they reached the second floor, Buffy kicked him hard in the center of his chest, sending him as far away from her as she could. Spike crashed into a display and lay there for a moment, disoriented.

_Weapon, I need a…_

A hunting supply store to her left seemed to beckon to her. The window displayed all kinds of camping and hunting gear, including some archery equipment.

_Perfect. _

Buffy smashed her elbow into the display glass and grabbed the crossbow there. It was a little bigger than the ones she was used to, but it would do. Beside it lay the wooden arrows she would need. Buffy stepped around the corner of the shop, just outside the mouth of a department store, out of Spike's line of vision, and loaded the crossbow.

"Slayer," he called out sing-song. His voice dropped to a low growling whisper, "Where are you hiding?"

Buffy held her breath and looked up, hoping beyond hope that it would work.

"Come on, Slayer, don't tell me you don't want to play. I'm going to find you, you know," Spike said, his voice ringing clear. His next words were a quieter threat, "Drain you dry."

Buffy turned the corner and shot. Spike's yellow eyes widened and he caught the thin wooden stick just inches before his heart. He looked down and back up at her again with wide eyes.

Buffy held the crossbow and stared him down.

Spike snarled and snapped the arrow in his hand. He was headed for her now, his pace fast and self-assured. Buffy stood her ground as he approached, fingers sure against the trigger. He sped up at the last-minute and got in a well-timed punch that loosened her grip. When Spike grasped her upper arms, the crossbow fell to the floor in a clatter.

_Not good,_ Buffy thought as Spike bent his head to her throat, fangs ready.

She caught his arms and held tight, trying to push him off and away from her.

They struggled for dominance, more a show of strength than skill.

_And I'm stronger. _

That thought renewed her. Buffy kicked him once hard across the face and grasped the lapels of his coat at an angle where she felt she had the power. She pushed him with punches toward the gap over the first floor and when she had just the right angle, Buffy shoved.

Spike flew over the protective railing and landed hard on the tile below. He lay there in a still heap and for a moment Buffy hoped he would dust.

No, he stood dizzily, looking viciously pissed. Buffy glared down at him with as much menace as she could.

"This isn't over, Slayer! You hear me?" Spike called out, "I'm gonna put you in the bloody ground!"

Then he was running, leaving, and all the while, Buffy stared after him.

* * *

Outside, police lights were flashing and 9th Street was backed up with traffic. Buffy couldn't see any more dead bodies or even neck injuries on the people surrounding the ambulances than she'd seen inside. It seemed that the escapee vampires had done just that, escaped.

Buffy wandered along past the groups of people standing and being questioned by police about the incident.

"You don't understand. My daughter's still in there."

"I understand you're worried about your daughter ma'am, but this is a serious situation and you're just going to have to—"

"Buffy!"

She turned to see her mother, standing with a police officer near an ambulance and looking worried.

"Is this your daughter?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, officer," Joyce said. The cop gave Joyce a nod and left to assist other mall patrons. "Buffy, what happened? You look hurt. The police are saying it was a gang."

"I don't know," Buffy said, searching her mind for a lie. Her voice was small and far away, still locked in that fight. "I-I hid, in a closet. A janitor's closet. I found one and I, um, I hid. But first, I fell. The guys inside were breaking stuff, but I don't know what happened."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Joyce said, looking her over.

"Yeah, mom, I'm okay," Buffy said. She glanced around and smiled hopefully. "Do you still have my shopping bags?"

Joyce turned to where they sat behind her.

"Mom, you're a life saver."

* * *

Spike yelled and drove his fist through the motel room wall.

He turned and kicked an end table hard. The lamp on it fell and crashed and his boot cracked the wood into bits.

"Damn it!" he shouted.

Why hadn't he done it? Why hadn't he killed her? He'd seen her up there, mocking him, staring him down. The Slayer.

"Buffy," Spike spat out. Ridiculous name.

Instead of going back and fighting her like any self-respecting demon would have, he'd left, run, like he had no sodding rocks at all. Here he was, sitting in a motel room like a pathetic ponce, furious at himself and more than a little hard from the memory of their fight.

Next time, he'd get her. Next time, he wouldn't hold back. He wouldn't hesitate, he wouldn't leave.

He was going to bathe in her blood, drink it all down while she was warm and live and wriggling, until she was nothing more than a cold dead husk in his hands. Now that he knew how sweet she smelled when exchanging blows—all blood, sweat, and flowery scented hair—the way her eyes flashed with fire when she went for the kill, how hot she'd felt when she'd tackled him. To have her over him, holding him down, his fingers digging into that bitty waist—

"Next time, Slayer," Spike said. "I will know your blood."

_And it will be the sweetest thing I ever taste. _

Spike sat down on the end of that autumn-leaf comforter and lay back. His flicked on the telly and stared as some made for TV movie played onscreen. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was somewhere else, still in a fight with the Slayer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Early post coming your way! Hope you enjoy.

Big thanks to my beta All4Spike for doing such an incredible job.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 11

"Oh bliss, school," Buffy said as she gazed out at Terminal High from the passenger window of her mother's rental. She turned to Joyce and said as seriously as she could, "You know, the success rate of high school dropouts is surprisingly high these days."

Joyce shook her head and said, "Buffy, you are going to school."

Buffy pouted. "Fine, make me suffer."

"Up side is, I'll be back to pick you up at three," Joyce reminded her.

"Homework, dinner, and a movie?" Buffy asked, perking up.

"That's the plan," Joyce said.

"Sounds fair," Buffy said, glumly. She brightened. "Hey, maybe we could just do the movie _now_ and I could come by here at, oh, say threeish, to pick up my homework—"

"Buffy, you are going to school," Joyce repeated, a little more sternly.

"I get points for rampant anti-enthusiasm, right?" Buffy said.

"Buffy, I love you," Joyce said in full patient-mom voice, "go to class."

"Love you too, I'll see you at three," Buffy said and got out of the car.

She walked up the front path, feeling pretty in her frilly cardigan, and determined with a list of things filed under Fully Resolved To Do.

_One, _she thought, _talk to somebody who doesn't seem all snobbish like they eat fancy-person food, like finger sandwiches or something. Why do they call them that anyway? I bet demonic origins. _

_Two, do not eat lunch alone in a bathroom stall. I am not going to go all After School Special: the Buffy Summers story, even if worst comes to worst. _

_Three, ignore every single thing any person says about me. _

Buffy walked with more fortitude, but still, she attracted whispers in the hallways.

"I was at the Galleria last night for a date with Anthony and I saw Buffy Summers there in the food court. She might have been with that gang. I didn't see her when I left," one girl said, her eyes locked on Buffy.

"Really?" her friend asked.

"No joke," the girl confirmed.

_Oh, come on, _Buffy thought, _what are the odds that out of everybody there, I was with Spike and his goons? Not that they know who they are, but it's still stupid any way you spin it. _

Buffy shook her head and kept on walking toward the front desk for her schedule, deciding to accept that her classmates didn't think with Earth-logic. "That's what I'm going to do, just keep on—"

A boy slammed into her shoulder as she passed.

"Sprinting," Buffy said to herself, gritting her teeth, "I've got to keep _sprinting_ and maybe I'll get through this day."

"Hey, watch it, Summers!" he said. He smirked. "Don't go psycho on me now."

"I'm not," Buffy said, not bothering to conceal her irritation over it all.

"Talking to yourself?" the boy said with a sneer. "Just stay away from me and don't play with any matches."

"Oh yeah, well, I don't even _have_ matches, think about that," Buffy shot back, crossing her arms and hoping she looked confident. The boy snickered and walked off, shaking his head as if she were a joke. "Okay, that might have been the lamest thing I've ever said…"

By the time Buffy had sat down in her first class and listened to her English teacher drone on about the writings of the expatriates in Paris, she'd zoned out, her mind wandering.

At least she had that dinner to be excited for. _But then there's only one day left with mom. _

It was so unfair.

_I'm supposed to be someone who balances the scales and keeps the evil in check, _Buffy thought, _where's my fairness? _

If only this were the kind of problem she could just slay and be done with. But, no, it had to be one that was all too human.

Memories of her fight the previous night came unbidden. Spike was good, she'd give him that much. Good enough to make her worry. The faint yellowed bruise on her cheek still stung and her muscles were a little sore from exertion. Nothing a Slayer constitution wouldn't cure, but enough to have her itching to get a weapon in her hands.

_Stalemates: not my style, _she thought. _Tonight, any vampires I meet are winning a one-way vacation to Stakesville. _

Buffy already knew one whose number was up.

"Miss Summers?"

"What? Yes, I'm here, present," Buffy said.

The class tittered a bit at her babbling and Buffy felt her eyes widen with embarrassment.

"Sorry, Mr. Schaffer, I kind of spaced," she said.

"Hmm, I noticed," Mr. Schaffer said, not bothering to hide his disapproval. "Are we ready to pay attention now?"

"Yup, color me focused."

But her mind fell back into fighting as soon as the Hemingway resumed.

* * *

"So, how was school?" Joyce asked as they sat down to dinner. Their outdoor table at the restaurant was pleasantly cool at twilight, stars twinkling between thick clouds that were closing in for a September storm. It was nice just to sit and eat and talk before driving off to a movie. It was nice just to have her mom.

"Okay," Buffy said, stabbing the lemon slice in her water with a small plastic sword. "I got a bunch of math homework and sat with a kid named Boris at lunch. He speaks very little English and ate my cafeteria jello when I wasn't looking. So, all in all…much better than last year."

Joyce furrowed her brow, but the corners of her mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. "You wanna say that again with even less enthusiasm?"

Buffy shrugged. "I'm trying, but…"

"Things are different at your school," Joyce finished for her.

"Yeah."

"Not everywhere's going to be like back home," her mother said, "and that school you're at certainly doesn't help matters."

"You're telling me?" Buffy said, but there was still a note of humor in her voice.

"Oh, believe me, I looked into it further when you started complaining about that place and I am not surprised that you don't like it. Small student body of a very exclusive crowd, expensive tuition, a history of hazing and bullying and…I just have to ask, Buffy. Why did you ever apply to that place?" Joyce asked.

"What? I didn't—"

Joyce frowned in confusion.

_Oh, right, pretense, _Buffy thought.

"Honey, are you okay? Is something bothering you?"

Buffy stopped the first lie from coming out of her mouth and took a deep breath for courage.

"Mom," she began, "If I were to tell you something…crazy and it sounded, well, _crazy_, would you—I mean, I know that you and dad did, together, but, would _you_—?"

"No," Joyce said in a firm voice. "No, I couldn't do that to you again."

Buffy nodded. She knew that they were both thinking of the clinic. Buffy took a deep breath.

"And, if I told you that there's evil in this world—and I don't just mean taking candy from a baby, evil, I mean big bad _real_ evil—what would you say?" she continued.

"I would say that it isn't such a crazy thing to think," Joyce said, sounding thoughtful. "I think everyone knows the feeling of having some burst of intuition and realizing that they've just seen something, oh, I don't know, bigger than themselves, maybe? Sometimes, it's good and sometimes, I think you could call it evil."

"Do you think that people can fight it, that kind of evil?" Buffy asked.

Joyce considered for a moment. "I think it's like anything else, all you can do is try."

"Mom, what if I…" Buffy stopped. This was it. _Big moment, _Buffy thought.

"What if you what?"

A flash of white blond and an unmistakable swish leather going around a corner caught Buffy's eye. Not here, not now.

"Buffy?"

"Sorry, I, um," she said, craning her neck to see, "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure, honey," Joyce said in confusion.

Buffy went inside the restaurant, walking past crowded booths and tables. Somewhere deeper inside, the wait staff was singling a public domain birthday jingle. Instead of going into the bathroom, Buffy left through the front entrance. She stopped on the front step and glanced around the street before walking assuredly toward the alley to her left between their restaurant and a bar. She could feel him before she saw him.

"Spike."

He grinned, leaning against a brick wall and smoking. Buffy hadn't seen his human face since that first night behind Kinetic, but then it had been in full shadow, nothing but angles and planes. Spike looked younger under the full light above the bar's back entrance. He was older than her, but still; young. His eyelashes were dark on his cheek when he looked down and his skin was pale and smooth. Buffy's eyes were drawn to where he held a cigarette between full lips. Despite the fashion disaster hair and coat, the full effect was, well, kind of…pretty actually.

_In a very _bad _way, _Buffy thought, glaring at him, _bad and wrong. Unnatural_. It wasn't right that an evil thing should live forever, young and strong and good-looking while decent people died. It only made her fury at him flare. She could hate him more for being attractive. He didn't deserve it.

"Slayer, fancy seeing you out and about, having a nice sit down."

"You fall under the category of work and this is my personal life," Buffy said, not hiding her anger.

"So what?" Spike asked, breathing out a blue cloud of smoke.

"So if you have any desire to remain undusty, I suggest you act on it now and run," she said darkly.

Spike chuckled and crushed the cigarette beneath the toe of one big ugly boot. "Are you giving me an out, Slayer?"

Buffy pulled the stake from her waistband. "No, mostly I'm going to kill you."

"Tough talk," Spike said, walking forward slowly, watching her watch him.

"I'm a toughie," Buffy answered.

Spike's breathing was rough as he stared her down, Buffy could practically feel the anger, the loathing working up inside him. She could see it in his eyes, a cold clear blue, searing her where their gazes met. He was freezing her so cold that it felt like heat and Buffy found herself glaring with the same intensity. Vampires were what she killed, not what she reviled. But, he kept looking at her like that and Buffy could feel it rising in her stomach. Strange, it was easy for her too, to hate this guy.

"You know what I want you to do, Slayer?" Spike asked, his fists shaking at his sides as he waited to throw the first punch.

"Hit you in your pretty boy face?" Buffy asked sweetly.

He grinned. "That'd be a nice start."

Buffy shrugged and punched. Spike's head snapped back. When he looked at her, fury renewed, he was in game face.

"That hurt," he said in what Buffy knew was a mocking surprise.

"Does this?" she asked, pulling him closer and kneeing him in the stomach.

"Dunno, love," Spike said, his own fist making contact with her belly. "You tell me."

Buffy groaned, but returned a kick to the head so hard that he fell back into the wall. Another tingle went up her neck and Spike seemed to sense it too, just out of reach.

"Spike!" someone called. "You around here, man?"

Buffy rolled her eyes as she saw two eighties vampires walk past the mouth of the alley. She turned to Spike. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have, like, the lamest friends?"

She looked around the alley. Empty.

"Spike?"

He was gone.

"Aren't we going to fight?" Buffy asked. She turned back to the street to see Spike throw a glance over his shoulder, seething, and leading the two vampires away.

The two minions' eyes widened with concern when they saw her. Before she could make a move, they disappeared into the crowd.

_He might not be working for the vamp behind the curtain, but he seems to be taking somebody's orders, _Buffy thought. He certainly didn't look happy about it.

At least it had helped in this case.

Her thuggish, eager enemy not working for her sneaky, lurky enemy was a plus in Buffy's book. Apart from school, her mother, and her Watcher, a super duo of badness would be the cherry on top of a truly miserable life. Still, something about it nagged at her.

Buffy returned to the table. They'd brought her food out while she was away.

"You were gone awhile. I was starting to worry," Joyce said.

"Sorry, I had to go and deal with—" Buffy stopped herself from telling and finished, "I mean, fix my makeup. It was a regular makeup emergency."

"You look fine to me," Joyce said, "a little shaken, though."

"I'm fine," Buffy said, "everything's fine."

_I'll tell her someday, _Buffy thought. It just wasn't that day yet.

* * *

Spike caught the Slayer around the waist and brought her down, hard. She struggled and thrashed beneath him, but he pinned her arms and held her wrists in an iron grip. The crunch of his fangs entering his mouth was almost painfully satisfying as he watched her try to escape.

Her shiny hair was spread out beneath her like a halo and her lips were parted and very, very pink, showing him flashes of angry white teeth. She quaked with rage. She wanted to kill him, he could see it in her eyes—had he ever seen something so intense in a girl's eyes?—but he had her legs trapped between his, straddling her.

Spike leaned down, his nose skimming along her throat, breathing in her scent. His mouth brushed her skin, fangs making the tiniest nick so that a warm trickle of blood flowed down the smooth column of her neck. Spike trailed his tongue along her hot, salty skin, eager to lick up that trail of red. He was practically drooling at the promise of such a sweet treat, and—

The sound of an ambulance's siren through the cheap motel walls startled him from his dream.

Spike woke groggily with a frustrated groan, and blinked. He touched the corner of his mouth, found it was wet, and wiped it on the back of his hand with a sneer of disgust.

He had slept the day away and it was dark outside once more. Spike pulled a pillow over his face as if the total darkness could take him back to the place where the Slayer lay beneath him, his fangs at her throat, her scent everywhere.

He was trembling with the weight of it all. The rage inside him was strong to bursting, and he hadn't been so bloody turned on in months, prick hard and begging for attention. All together, it amounted to something close to pain.

If only he had been able to—

_If Big Guy's geek helpers hadn't interrupted, I _could _have. Could've tasted…_

They'd seen him with her anyway, and warned him about angering the boss.

_Those blokes'll tell that old bat my business no matter what I do, _Spike thought, _so why's it matter what I'm doing?_

The Slayer was worth more than keeping some old vamp happy, in any case. Spike shuddered with pleasant memories. God, the way she fought…

Only two fights and already he dreamed about her.

_She's bloody perfect, _was his only thought. Even Nikki hadn't been so raw.

This Slayer was unfettered by years of training and discipline. If she'd had any, she was most certainly rebelling—_girl after my own heart_. She was a bit sloppy, but she was finding her own way.

_No wonder old Angelus was interested in following the poor little bint around, _Spike thought with a snort, _always liked 'em young. _

That thought pissed him off. Angel had stolen everything from him.

_And he'll always know his jailbait morsel's been sucked dry by yours truly._

That left him a bit giddy. Hell, he may even go back to gloat, bring the Slayer's severed head on a platter, and throw Angel's utter and complete failure to help her in his face. He'd never tried on such total vindictiveness for size, but with Angel he might make a special exception.

_It is his cuppa, after all, the sadistic sod. Poetic justice, that's what it is. _Spike grinned happily at the thought.

Still, whether old or young, Spike had never seen a Slayer throw herself into the fight quite like that. Like it was all she had to live for. The memory of her pummeling him, launching herself at him, giving everything last bit she had was more than enough to excite him.

He couldn't wait any longer.

The next time Spike saw her, she was going to die.

* * *

**Author's Note:** If you could, please take the time to leave a review. It would make me a very happy author!


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm sorry that I haven't gotten around to replying to them. Another special thanks to those of you who followed or made a favorite.

Betaed by All4Spike

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 12

Buffy sat at the desk in her mother's hotel room, completing a short English essay. Her nerves were getting the better of her as each minute passed, listening to a drizzly rainstorm that had blown in off the lake. She'd doodled tiny vampires in the margins of her paper instead of working on her final paragraph and their ghoulish cartoon faces leered up at her. _At least it's a rough draft, _Buffy thought, lacking the motivation to copy it all over again before the next morning. She finished the last sentence and tucked it away into her bag.

Where was her mother? Shouldn't she have been back by now, hopefully with good news?

Buffy glanced to the alarm clock between the two queen sized beds and frowned. It had only been a few minutes since she'd last checked it.

"That can't be right," she whispered.

The door clicked shut behind her and Buffy whipped around as if in the midst of a fight, startled. Her fingers tightened their grip on the desk chair's armrests, making the wood beneath them creak and splinter. She relaxed when she saw who it was.

"I think my heart just tried to jump out of my throat," Buffy said.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, sweetie."

"So, how was your meeting?" Buffy asked as her mother ventured further into the hotel room. Thankfully, she hadn't noticed any damage Buffy had done to her chair, but her expression was so somber that Buffy worried.

"It was…" Joyce began and sighed, throwing her purse down on the bed closest to the door. "Honestly, I don't know."

Buffy's face fell. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I thought that he was very excited for this. He sounded so enthused on the phone, ready to sell, "Joyce stopped and frowned, "but when I got there, he was very…detached."

"Detached?" Buffy asked. Her mind jumped to demons and conjured up the image of a disembodied arm. "Like how?"

"Like he was having second thoughts. Distant, and nervous, and kind of cold," Joyce said. She shook her head and brushed her hair back. "Oh, maybe I'm just worrying too much."

"I'm sure it's just that," Buffy said, not wanting to consider the alternative.

"Maybe, Buffy, I guess we'll see," Joyce said. "He's going to call me."

Buffy glanced to where her mother's stuff was already packed beside the door. They would have to leave for the airport soon, their time was almost up.

"Don't worry, mom," Buffy said. "It's gonna work out."

_This _has_ to work out, _Buffy thought, _it just has to._

* * *

Cleveland Hopkins International Airport seemed cold. The rain had stopped, but swirling grey clouds were just outside the window and the hard plastic of the chairs that they sat on was unwelcoming and harsh. Icy. The only thing warming Buffy was the hot chocolate in her hand. Somehow, the drink wasn't as comforting as it had been when she was little.

She checked the clock again. It was hanging just beyond them above the counter where flights were called. They had only four minutes before Joyce would need to board. _Four more minutes, _Buffy thought.

Beside her, her mother shifted and Buffy knew she was checking the time too.

Buffy wanted to look up, really look up. To have that inevitable goodbye-centric conversation with tears and hugs and words. But that would make it real; it would mean that her mom was really leaving again. Buffy didn't know if she could take it.

_Three more minutes. _

So she kept on gazing at that white lid, a smear of the cocoa staining it, and at her thumbs where they met near her navel, the nails painted a chipped midnight blue. She frowned and picked a little at the paint, exposing a pinkish sliver beneath.

Buffy glanced out the window. The sun was starting to set outside and the clock ticked another minute away. _Two more minutes. _

"You're coming back?" Buffy asked, breaking the silence at long last. "You're selling the house and you're coming back?"

"First thing I do," Joyce said quickly. She met Buffy's eyes and the sincerity there was so genuine that Buffy could only believe her.

Buffy sniffed and tried for a smile. "I'll miss you while you're gone. Who's going to tell me what's too skanky to wear when you're in Los Angeles?"

"You'll just have to hang on until I get back. I can judge your _whole_ wardrobe if you want me to," Joyce said with a grin.

"I'll make sure to buy something horribly slutty," Buffy said, trying hard to keep up the joke, but she could feel tears tingling in her eyes.

"And I'll make sure that when I come back, I'm armed with muumuus and turtlenecks."

Buffy laughed and wiped at her tears. "Oh, look at me. I'm mushy."

"Buffy, I'm a mom," Joyce said, pushing Buffy's hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear, "We like mush."

Buffy wrapped her arms around her mother for a hug as the flight was called. She held on a little tighter at first when she felt her mother pull away, but released her.

Joyce gave her hair one last stroke and stood. She breathed in a sharp sigh. "That's me."

"That's you," Buffy said, sniffing and wiping the back of her hand over her cheeks. She felt a sob escape her lips and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. "This is really hard."

Joyce's lips turned down into a frown at the sound of her small voice. "I know it is."

"I feel like I should chase you or something," Buffy said with a chuckle, still struggling with drying the wet trails coating her face. "Isn't that what they do in the last scene of every movie ever? Except you're my mom and not, like, Tom Hanks or someone."

Joyce laughed and gave Buffy another hug. "I'm coming back," she said. "You know that, right?"

"I know," Buffy answered, pressing her wet cheek against her mother's shoulder. "I know you are."

Buffy was reluctant to let go as Joyce moved to gather her things. She paused and gave one last wave before entering the jet bridge.

Buffy waited as long as she could, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other hand playing with the neckline of her flimsy shirt at her collarbone. Emotion hung like a heavy cold stone within her chest, dragging everything within her down and welling water from her eyes. She hugged herself against the pain and uncertainty, staying as long as she could to watch the plane take off, to see her mother leaving as the sun set outside.

But all too soon she was gone.

* * *

"Shh!"

Spike rolled his eyes as he followed Malum's lackeys down the edge of the runway. He walked at a leisurely pace past the network of endless lights that brightened up the pavement and twinkled to planes above.

The minions, by contrast, were dodging past the lights as if it would hide them in plain sight. Idiots were all the more conspicuous for it.

'_Be the muscle', 'Look out for the girl', 'Bring her to me if she attacks', he says, _Spike thought, rolling his eyes. _Could've at least told me some of the secret bits about this secret mission._

But he was in the dark, meant only to be on the lookout for the Slayer. Spike rolled his eyes as he followed the lackeys closely. They were coming up on a recently landed plane. Most of the passengers had departed through to the gate, on their way to airport food and a nice car ride to a snug little bed. One man stood below it, shadowed, and just out of sight of the rest of the workers. Spike could smell the blood in the air before he saw the two security workers dead in their cart, arranged so that no one was the wiser.

A figure stood at the cart's hood, his features partially concealed by a dark hat and bulky coat.

"Evening boys," he said in a raspy voice.

"You got the shipment the king wanted?" one minion asked straight away.

The demon raised its head to reveal a ruddy face decorated with dark rune-like tattoos and two protruding tusks at its mouth. _So he's into the black stuff then, _Spike thought. What the bleeding hell had he gotten himself into?

_You got into it for her. _

The Slayer's face came to mind reflexively before he pushed Drusilla's to the forefront and held her image there. A memory of her talking to the stars, which made his heart soften and his eyes sting.

_For Dru. _

The leader lackey scoffed and tapped a booted foot when the demon rummaged through his overlarge pockets. "Come on, the shipment."

"It's right here," the demon said with a low growl, pulling a small wooden box carved with lettering in a demon language from the inside pocket of his heavy coat. Spike could have wrapped his whole hand around it comfortably. "I think Malum owes me extra for this trip as it was such a bitch to get here. Cloaking spells on the ground are no big thing, but the lady in the seat next to me didn't quite buy the 'religious body modification' excuse."

"Do they ever?" the minion said, laughing at his own joke.

When only his fellow lackeys laughed along, he quieted.

"Come on. I don't have all night for laughs. Pay up," the demon growled.

"Yeesh, have a moment for humor, would you?" The minion fished around in the pocket of his own leather trousers and handed over a crumpled check. "Happy now?"

The demon inspected it and tucked it away. "Satisfied enough. You boys take care now. I'll see you in a week."

Spike stared after him as the demon walked off down the runway, disappearing into the dark. A closer look at the shipment confirmed his earlier suspicions. _Looks like boss-man's working some mojo as we speak, _he thought. Funny little box like that couldn't have any other purpose.

The minions chattered happily about their success as they snuck inside through the jet bridge, coming out into a mostly deserted gate area.

"You bloody paid him," Spike said, shaking his head with some disbelief as they headed for the redline stop inside the terminal. "Got to say, not exactly how me and mine operated if we made any trades."

Trying to think of Angel and Dru in any capacity still stung. Spike grimaced and tried to focus on the here and now.

Minion-in-charge inspected the small box before noticing that Spike was looking on and pocketing it swiftly. "We conducted a respectable business deal."

_This city doesn't make any buggering sense at all, _Spike thought.

"Besides, we've got another shipment due next week and Malum's his most valued customer."

"So what's in this bite-sized box? Party favor for the Slayer?" Spike asked, tilting his head as minion-in-charge covered his pocket protectively.

"Nothing you need to know about," he snapped back in reply. "It's the king's, it's for the Slayer. Nothing else to it."

Spike scoffed. "Don't think I'm _that_ bloody interested, I—"

He paused as a scent wafted past him. Shampoo, soap, sweat, and something distinctively hers invaded his senses in a dizzying cocktail. How were the lackeys not reacting to this? _Cause they can't bear the thought of her in the thick of it, beating them into a new unlife, _Spike thought. Vicious girl or victim, it didn't make much of a difference to Spike. She was in _his_ thoughts all the time.

And she was close.

"Wait here," Spike said.

"Why?" another minions asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Because I said so, all right? I still have some authority here, don't I? Now stay bloody put," Spike said. He turned and followed his nose away from a dozy looking family complaining about lost luggage and to a nearby ladies' restroom. He could only hear one single heartbeat. _Hers. _

There she was, looking absurdly small and all alone in that big room. Slayer. Buffy. All shiny hair and sun-kissed skin and…tears. They marked her face in wet, overlapping trails, dry for the most part, but the salt scent still remained as if this Slayer could cry oceans. Glimmers of them still lurked in the corners of her eyes, glinting there. She splashed some water on her cheeks and breathed deeply through her nose as if trying to calm herself. Spike frowned as he watched her, cocking his head and feeling more than a bit intrusive. Maybe he should leave.

But then again, he reminded himself, he didn't care.

"Lookie lookie what I found," he said, leaning against the wall. "What's with the sniffle show, Slayer? You fall down and scrape a knee?"

"Get out," she whispered.

"Oh," Spike said slowly with a feral grin, "touched a nerve, did I?"

Damn it, she looked serious, all clenched teeth and misty eyes. "I mean it. Go now."

Spike froze and blinked. He couldn't see a stake on her in that clingy green number. Maybe he should—

No.

He smirked and walked behind her, invisible in the mirror. Spike stood as close as he dared to, within inches. Oh God, the heat of her was scorching him; he could feel it radiating from knees to chest and everywhere in between. It brought a pleasant ache wherever it touched and drew an unwarranted gasp from his throat. Delicious Slayer-warmth.

But when she turned to face him, her expression was lethal, and Spike said only two words. "Make me."

Buffy punched. Spike staggered back as the blow hit his nose, laughing. "Come on, Slayer, you can do better than that."

She hit him again, with even more force this time.

He was laughing once more. "Yeah! That's it, love."

Buffy hit him harder with every punch, somehow managing to keep those glimmers from escaping from the corners of her eyes as she shoved him into the tile wall.

"You disgust me. All of you," the Slayer said, throwing a hard right hook to his chin and another hit to his side. She wasn't making too much sense, but that was all right. At least now she was in it, giving it to him good, her narrowed eyes right up close with his. "You only have one purpose, don't you? Killing."

Spike laughed harder as she punctuated the last bitter word with another punch.

"And you have taken _everything_ away from me!"

Spike started at those words. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved, sending the Slayer sprawling on her ass, her eyes still looking deadly, hands balled up into shaking fists. She stood and held a defensive pose.

"Whatever problems you've got love, I'm not the sodding cause," Spike said. A mix of unwanted pity and anger was boiling in his gut, all amounting to something like revulsion. At her, at himself, at the fact that she was the Slayer, damn it and she had better start acting like it before he heaved.

Buffy glared at him, chin trembling. "I hate you."

Spike sneered at her. "Try it again without the waterworks."

Buffy frowned and touched her face. He'd made one fat glistening drop spill down her cheek. Her eyes went impossibly wide and Spike felt once again like he was watching something he shouldn't be. Something in her foundation was cracking and deep, even he could see that. She swallowed thickly and raised her fists again, staring him down, unmovable.

"I hate you," she said again, more self-assured, punctuated.

Spike smiled. "That's my girl."

It was in her eyes now, that fire; ready and raw. The appetite for the kill within her. Spike roared and felt his face burst into bumps and ridges as jumped for her.

The Slayer met him half way, knocking him down. They skidded against the slick floor and into the wall, her fists making a nice impression on his face as he got in punches where he could. She landed a lucky kick and scrambled away from him to get her footing. They were back up at the same instant. He aimed a high kick for her nasty little face, but she dodged fluidly and came back for another hit.

She struck true with the last punch and Spike saw stars.

He came back roaring with laughter as she matched each blow he threw at her.

He felt alive.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Spike froze and felt the Slayer do the same, his face melting back to human. An airport security guard was speaking quickly into a walkie talkie, using words of code before switching back to what Spike could fathom.

"Yes, I've got an emergency situation. A physical altercation between a man and a girl of approximately sixteen years old, in the ladies' restroom down hall—"

_Bollocks. _

The Slayer looked at him, torn between panic and that naked desire in her eyes to do him in. She chose the first and bolted, Spike quickly on her heels. Flights must have just landed. The whole terminal was flooded people wandering around and chattering. He could smell her still, somewhere out there, but she was gone as far as he could see and he had the buggering airport security on his heels.

The minions stood jittery across the terminal hall, looked just as confused as the Slayer had.

"Spike, man, what was that?"

"Was the Slayer in there?"

"Wasn't anything, let's go," Spike said.

He just kept walking at a brisk pace, throwing glances over his shoulder.

"But, Spike—"

"Look, let's just piss off, all right?"

They left in a hurry. Wherever the Slayer was, she hadn't taken the Rapid. The lackeys prattled away, pleased with themselves and their successful mission. Spike was silent, his mind locked on that look on her face as she pummeled him, and wondering why for the barest second, he had considered letting her go.

* * *

"Murder at Cleveland Hopkins International. That's the latest breaking story tonight. Two men were found dead last night on the job; security personal seeing in a flight from Spain. No word yet on the details of these brutal killings, other than that their bodies were found mutilated—"

Buffy turned off the small television on the kitchen counter and swallowed a sickening lump in her throat.

She'd been too wrapped up in her own problems and selfish needs to do her job. Spike had been at the airport last night, she'd let him get away, and now, two people were dead because of it. Buffy drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead against them. She felt sick with guilt.

"Miss Summers."

_Great, just what I need right now. _

"If you aren't going to sit in a chair properly, perhaps you should stand," Ms. Davies said.

Buffy made a show of lowering her legs slowly and sitting up. "Happy?" she asked, calm and collected.

Ms. Davies raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. "Impertinence aside, Miss Summers, I have something for you."

Buffy noticed the shiny leather portfolio in hand. It had the Council written all over it.

"That looks educational," Buffy said, her feeble attempts at enthusiasm failing her. "What's in it?"

"Information on your Spike," Ms. Davies said.

Buffy bristled and felt the guilt rise up like bile. "He's not my anything."

Ms. Davies didn't comment, just gave her that hawk-like gaze.

"Well, you should have a chance to read it over. It is far from encouraging."

Ms. Davies dropped it on the table and watched as Buffy reached for it eagerly, a little more eagerly than she cared for her Watcher to see. _Those men are dead because of me. _

Inside, pictures of Spike throughout the ages, most of them fuzzy and blurred, were mixed in with snippets of articles on yellowing newsprint, and selections of what looked like Watchers' diaries.

Buffy reached out and picked up the clearest photograph—a black and white. The people around him took up a lot of the photo's space, obscuring the face of the dark haired girl who hung giggling on his arm, but there was a clear shot of his human features. The clothes were different, torn jeans and leather jackets as far as the eye could see, but there was no mistaking his face. The scar, the cheekbones, the sparkle of destruction in his eye, and the laugh spilling from his too-pretty mouth; it was Spike through and through.

"Is this the vampire that you fought?" Ms. Davies asked.

"Definitely him, he's our Big Bad," Buffy said, eyes glued to the laughing face in the picture. "What do we know about him?"

"He's known as William the Bloody in our older texts," Ms. Davies said, straight to business. "The Council has great contention concerning his age, but our general agreement lies between two hundred and one hundred and fifteen years old. Not much is known concerning his human life, although the majority of his vampiric existence is well documented. Our records solidify that he grew more active in the latter half of the eighteen eighties. Much of his history prior to that is unaccounted for and murky, if there's truly any to be spoken of at all."

"Well, I've gotta say, he looks good for his age," Buffy said, crossing her legs and replacing the photograph with the others. "What else do we know?"

"Our most recent information suggests that his paramour, for lack of a better term, a vampire by the name of Drusilla, was killed by a mob in Prague, although why he's come to Cleveland is a mystery to me," Ms. Davies said. "Do you have any theories, Miss Summers?"

"Not really. I mean, all he wants to do is fight me. He's, like, the fightiest guy I've ever met," Buffy said.

"His history does suggest such a pattern," Ms. Davies said, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"A pattern of what, fighting?" Buffy asked.

"Of Slayers," Ms. Davies said. "Of killing them."

Buffy clenched her jaw, annoyed. "God, is there any big wig vamp in this town that doesn't want to kill me?"

Ms. Davies scoffed. "Unlikely, Miss Summers."

Buffy rolled her eyes and her Watcher frowned in disapproval.

"If the vampire who you've been facing is the same as this William, it classifies him as a very dangerous creature. He's killed two Slayers in the past and he looks to be making a habit of it," Ms. Davies said. "Now, I propose that—"

Ms. Davies' next words were lost on her.

Spike had killed two people on her watch, most likely more, and now she learned this? Had those girls been like her? Did they have a mother somewhere out there that loved them too? Was the Council in control of their lives? Buffy breathed in deeply and came to the only rational decision.

"Well, I think I know what I have to do," Buffy said, standing and heading for the hall, her mind on the weapons in the basement. "It seems pretty obvious to me."

"What's that?" Ms. Davies asked. She frowned; likely concerned that Buffy wasn't following orders. She was taking matters into her own hands.

"I can't wait anymore," Buffy said, "I have to kill him."

* * *

He had to kill her.

Spike lay in bed, sleepless and listless. His thoughts were plagued by the same little body, the same bouncy hair.

The look on her face when she told him to leave.

Buffy. She was everywhere.

Spike couldn't go on like this, knowing that the Slayer was out there and not being able to fight her the way he liked, always watching his back to keep Malum's boys off it. He knew they'd told the old man about his alleyway scuffle, and now the airport. Spike had made the proactive decision to avoid Ohio City until he had a plan going in. He'd already had enough flack for his previous 'failed' attempts at a Slayer-capture. Somehow he figured this time was the charm.

_Wonder what he'll try to do to me over it? Stake, beheading, or just a stern lecture, _Spike thought. In any case, he was going to fight appropriately; he just had to think it through.

Although, there weren't such bad options in the way of spontaneity. Spike grinned at the mental image of Malum dusting as he lopped off his head or drove a tree branch through his chest, and chuckled. Now those fantasies weren't confusing in the least.

There was a knock on the door.

"Oh balls," Spike said in exasperation, flopping back into the pillows. He sighed and muttered, "Think of the devil in shoulder pads and he shall appear."

The knocking grew more incessant.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Give us a minute," he shouted, rolling out of bed naked and searching the floor for his discarded jeans. He pulled them on and opened the motel door, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair as he did so. "Oh, bloody hell. What do you want?"

The minion at the door—decked out in a dyed black mullet and acid-washed jeans—was jittery and nervous. "The king needs to speak with you, Spike. He's got a bone to pick."

Spike sucked in a breath through his teeth and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah, well I've got a sleep to sleep. Why don't you bugger off and come back in a good few hours?"

He moved to shut the door, but the head-banger stuck his foot out, stopping it. Spike raised an eyebrow.

"He needs to see you now," the minion asserted.

Spike huffed and moved to shut it again. "Lemme get myself in order then."

Prep-time was over, he realized as he dressed, he'd have to think off the cuff.

Spike contemplated for a moment and indulged in a wicked grin.

Planning had never been his style anyway.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is another two part chapter. I will try to get the second half up early this week. Thanks so much for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **Thanks to those of you who reviewed, followed, or made a favorite. I've absolutely loved reading any thoughts and predictions. It's nice to know that there are readers out there. I know that I have been posting chapters rather quickly, so make sure you're caught up before you read this one.

Betaed by All4Spike

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 13

"Miss Summers, you don't know anything about his habits," Ms. Davies said. She'd followed Buffy down the stairs, speaking the entire way to the basement. "His feeding patterns, the kinds of violence he delights in, not even his fighting style from your meager experience of facing him."

"I know him well enough by now to understand that Spike goes where I go. Ergo, he will come to me." Buffy examined the weapons on the wall and pulled a crossbow down from the rack, testing its weight on her arm and gliding her finger over the trigger mechanism. It would do. She began hiding stakes in her sleeves and the waistband of her jeans, before selecting a large dagger which would work for a quick beheading, if needed, and tucking it into her boot.

"This is highly irregular," Ms. Davies said, not bothering to hold back her irritation. "As your Watcher, I must say that you're going against my judgment."

"Good thing I don't care what that is, otherwise, I might actually listen," Buffy muttered, not meeting Ms. Davies' eyes and loading up on arrows.

"Miss Summers, that is enough," Ms. Davies said forcefully, making Buffy start. "Never in my years as a Watcher have I met a Slayer as unwilling to learn under my tutelage as you have been. Heeding my guidelines is integral to your success as the Slayer and your behavior has been consistently—"

Buffy turned on her heel, only focused on one thing.

"Okay, I get it. I'm majorly disappointing. But we're going to have to finish this another time," Buffy said, trotting up the basement stairs. "I've got a vampire to slay."

* * *

_Looks like a full house, _Spike thought as he glanced around Malum's hideaway.

A good lot of the berk's considerable number of lackeys had shown up, giddy and jittery, talking among themselves, and ready for a party. They lounged around on their lawn chairs and junk yard couches, self-satisfied and buzzing with it. A vamp with hair so processed that it looked like auburn cotton candy stared haughtily at him. Spike gave her a dark glare that wiped that look from her face.

Another three of the wankers—the ones from the little airport field trip—knelt before their king, paying homage or something else altogether ridiculous.

"You've done very well," Malum said solemnly, reaching out to touch the crown of one bowed, mullet-covered head. "You have provided an essential material in our crusade against the Slayer and I shall reward you."

"Ah, thanks man," he said.

"Yeah, anything for you," another piped up as the old bat's clawed fingers passed from vamp to vamp.

"Another shipment arrives in one week's time, without it, our endeavor will be fruitless," Malum instructed the vamps in a low, reverent whisper. "The contact will arrive from Barcelona at the same time and usual place. You know what to do. Do not fail me, or all will be lost."

"You got it boss," one said.

Spike walked into his line of vision and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Well, well. This sounds important. Hope I'm not interrupting."

The three kneeling minions stood and gave Spike smug, knowing looks as they retreated to another part of the cavern.

"Mr. Spike," Malum said from his easy chair throne. He clicked those clawed fingertips together as if deep in thought. "I was beginning to fear that we would not be graced with your presence this evening. You are quite the slippery one. My men have been in search of you all night."

"Sorry, mate, had to get my rest, you know. I was a bit knackered," he replied.

Spike's gaze swept the cavern for any escape if he needed one. Apart from the stairs, there was only a craggy cavernous looking hole in the foundational rock. It was surrounded by rubble in the room's darkest corner and probably let out into the sewers, or maybe it was a closed off chamber where the big guy kept his food. Best not risk it.

"Ah, yes, I understand that," Malum said. He stood and walked towards Spike, pacing. His gait was slow and loping, casual. He was in control and he knew it. "I heard that you've had another recent encounter with my Slayer."

"Yep, and I gotta say, she's a right tough little bitch. Gave me a run for my money," Spike said. He was lying through his teeth. _Didn't do me much harm when she was_ _sobbing those enormous eyes out in that bathroom, although afterwards I got my fair share of pain. _The thought made him uncomfortable, so he fished around in his pockets for his lighter and a pack of smokes. Malum wrinkled his nose rat-like, as he lit up, but continued to pace.

"Hmm, yes, I'm sure she is. They usually are. You should know from these encounters, these…_clashes_. But recently, my men have told me of the strangest and most concerning occurrences," Malum said, his voice turning up as if he were trying to think of something that was difficult to remember. "And it seems to have led them to quite a troublesome conclusion."

"What's that then?" Spike asked, exhaling smoke. He threw a laughing glance to the minions. "They finally get a good picture of themselves, learn how ridiculous they look?"

The vampires behind him growled.

"Nothing of the sort," Malum said, his voice stern and commanding. He stood directly in front of Spike. Too close, as always. He tilted his head to the side in a mock-inquisition and Spike could see every line around his eyes, stubble on that strong chin, the anger of clenched teeth. When Malum spoke, it was a hiss, "They tell me that you've been trying to kill the girl."

"She puts up a strong fight," Spike said. His face was a cool mask, features human and indifferent.

"You are not answering my question, Mr. Spike," Malum said. "In fact, a logical man might believe you to be avoiding it."

"Look, it's nothing personal, mate. 's what I do," Spike said. He flicked a bit of ash onto Malum's shoes. Malum stepped back, shaking it off, angered. Spike grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Can't tell a fish not to swim."

"No," Malum said, backing up. He smiled a smug smile. "But I can smother the gills."

* * *

Buffy walked down the alleyway behind Kinetic, crossbow ready at her side and earning her strange looks from people waiting to show the bouncer their ID or get a stamp. It was turning out to be a pretty pointless patrol in any case. Unless sticky dumpsters and broken beer bottles were somehow a sign of evil afoot, the place was clean, and Spike was nowhere to be found.

She wandered away from the alley, turning down a busier street. On one side of her were businesses, on the other, evening traffic, but Buffy barely bothered to look around as she marched single-mindedly down the sidewalk.

"Spike," she called out. Her voice dropped back to its normal volume as restaurant patrons seated outside craned their necks to see who was shouting. Buffy stomped away. "I know you're out here…somewhere."

She kept walking past a crowded bar and a closed boutique, wondering if she could catch the Rapid to another part of downtown. Maybe he was someplace nearer to the lake.

_TV villains always do badness by a lake, dumping bodies or doing nefarious business on boats then dumping yet more bodies—Wow, and the winner of worst detectiving goes to…_Buffy thought, _I shouldn't have watched those soaps with mom. _

She headed for the redline station.

_Where are you? _

The idiot was always around pestering her, observing her, trying to come up with some new way to take her down.

_Ever since he got here, it feels like it's been: wake up, live life, fight Spike. Lather, rinse, repeat…so why isn't he here now? _

Malum seemed like the obvious answer.

_Oh yeah, him. King Bitey, who I've yet to see living or undead._

In all honesty, she was beginning to doubt that he existed at all. Maybe it was something that the Council did, get their girls all worked up over nothing, but it was hard to feel that threatened by an invisible force, no matter how wigsome the idea of it was.

His alleged followers were certainly real enough. Metal heads who seemed to travel in packs late at night, experts in preying on club goers and getting their butts kicked. Buffy had already slain enough of them to understand that it was more than just a weird pattern. They knew each other, they worked together, and they seemed to work for someone else.

Ever since the first one at the construction site had mentioned the so-called king—

Buffy stopped in her tracks.

The seedy neighborhood site where the Flats met Ohio City. Vampira sneaking around, the clothing she wore, and the man-sized hole in the fence that was certainly not for the use of a man. They had all pointed to one thing.

_Vampire lair. _

Buffy turned on her heel and headed back towards the bus stop. She knew where to go.

* * *

Buffy hopped off the bus deep in the Flats and hit the ground running toward Ohio City, heading for where she thought the construction site was. She could end this right now, tonight, kill both birds with a bunch of stakes and knives and the world would be all the better for it.

She rounded the corner and there it was; a shoddy, shadowed mass in the middle of a fenced off lot. A glaring 'No Trespassing' sign hung on the chain link. The white of the sign was discolored by rusted metal ties holding it aloft which had bled a sickly orange. The site itself was still decrepit, still unfinished.

_Big shocker, _Buffy thought. Someone had probably been snacking on the workers.

She stepped tentatively through the makeshift entrance. The metal snagged in her loose hair and grazed her scalp, making her shudder.

Buffy stepped through the threshold of the building, feet crunching broken glass and sheets of metal. The maze of makeshift walls and abandoned equipment was hazy and gray in the near darkness. It was a strange place to wander, as if she had fallen into the middle of a dream. Buffy could feel something creepy on the back of her neck, which was all too real; a sure sign of vampires nearby. It made her sharp and alert, adrenalin racing.

Something scuttled in a nearby corner. Buffy whipped around, crossbow aimed and ready, only to see a few mice running away into the dark of another room. The sudden movement sent an empty beer bottle rolling away in a clatter. Buffy's heartbeat was thundering, her breathing a bit shallow.

For a moment, she considered saying Spike's name, calling him out for a fight just to end it then and there, but some instinct told her not to and she remained mum. Buffy turned past another flimsy wall, senses going haywire.

They had to be hiding somewhere close by.

A flight of stairs that were swallowed up in blackness, probably leading to a basement, loomed around the next corner.

_Bingo. _

She stood at the edge of them for a moment, considering all her options, and took a step down.

Once she was out of the way of the scattered moonlight that peered through cracks in the walls above, it was so dark, that Buffy had to walk with her hand out, holding a stake before her just in case of attack.

That tingly feeling was going crazy now. Buffy knew they were down here somewhere, and very very close. She felt her way along the wall and as she turned onto a concrete landing, she could see a soft glow lighting the stairs that opened up before her to an even lower level. Candles.

Relieved to finally have light, Buffy tucked the stake back in her sleeve and held the crossbow high and ready. From somewhere further down, she could hear voices. The chatter was soft, but grew more distinct as she went on, the words floating up the stairs.

"You're dancing around the bleeding issue. Whatever you have to say, mate, just say it. I can do without your fancy metaphors and waxing poetic, you know."

_Spike, _Buffy thought. So he was down here after all.

Another voice, a tight, irritated voice, with a slightly lilted accent, came next.

"What I am saying, Mr. Spike, is that you have broken an oath. You have done inadequately in capturing the Slayer and therefore outlived your usefulness."

Buffy rounded the corner to the foot of the stairs.

Spike was there, looking unreadable and even a little bored, but Buffy took note of the slight jump in the muscle of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed. He was angrier than he was letting on. A figure with a few inches on him in height, dressed in designer black clothes that seriously clashed with the interior decorating, and hands in more need of a manicure than any Buffy had seen, was pacing restlessly as if lecturing.

_Malum. _

The vampire king produced two stakes from his sleeves just as Spike's hands clenched into fists. Malum gave him a pitying expression, "I'm afraid that this is the end for—"

An arrow whizzed between their faces. Both of them veered back in time to keep out of its path and it embedded deeply in the rock to their side.

"Slayer!" Spike growled.

"Spike," Buffy parroted.

"So this is she," Malum said, tilting his head slowly to the side as he looked her over.

"Yep," Buffy said, hopping down off the stairs, crossbow in hand. "She is me."

Buffy glanced around the full underground cavern. Yikes, vampires everywhere. Male, female, and all in their metal-gear. Maybe twenty of them. She'd never taken more than six or seven at a time in a fight, and even then it had been a close match.

"It's funny, love, we were just talking about you," Spike said, his face shifting.

"Great," Buffy said, crossbow reloaded and ready to shoot, the cold mask of Slayerness on her face. "I'm the life of the party."

Malum smirked and walked back to his throne. He reclined casually, like a fat, lazy cat with a lizard squirming in its mouth. Oh, she was going to enjoy wiping that look off his face. Buffy watched him closely and kept the crossbow pointed his way the entire time. His minions were standing slowly from their seats, dropping beer bottles and lacing up boots.

"On your order, Malum," one said, grinning to his king.

"His order?" Buffy repeated, anxious, but trying to cover it up. She gave an uneasy smile. "Like if he wants fries with that, or is this an 'attack me' situation?"

The vampires were standing, growling, shifting into game face. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Spike ball up his fists and smirk.

"Oh, attack me it is…" Buffy said and gave a nervous whimper.

The vampires circled her and Buffy didn't waste time.

Her first arrow was fired Malum's way. One minion leapt in front of his leader and it caught him in the chest. He was dust before he hit the floor. Buffy pulled the stake from her sleeve and walked through the vampire's remains, eyes on Spike, who was watching her with an unconcealed hunger, as the other minions tried for an in. Her foot struck one's throat, her fist another's stomach. Short sharp jabs meant to cause momentary pain before she went for the kill. Two more were dusted quickly as Buffy reloaded her crossbow each chance she got.

"Oh bollocks."

Buffy caught a glimpse of Spike, locked in his own fight. One of Malum's lackeys grabbed a torch from the wall and swung it in Spike's direction. He ducked and returned furiously, hitting the minion repeatedly across the face.

_Okay, guess they're not on the same team anymore. _

Buffy hadn't realized that she was staring until another minion caught her shoulders. She flipped him down before he could tighten his grip and retrieved her long dagger, slicing right through his thick neck. The other minions hesitated, refraining from attacking as Buffy staked Spike's torch wielding vampire.

"No need to defend me, Slayer," Spike said, smiling sarcastically.

Buffy punched his nose, making him yelp in pain. "Sorry, but, when it comes to you." She kicked him in the center of his chest and sent him flying back into the cavern's rocky wall. "Not really feeling that defendy."

Spike laughed and stood, wiping the blood from his nose and tasting where it painted his fingers red.

"You wanna dance, pet?" Spike asked, cocking his head.

Buffy seethed. "Oh, you have no idea."

Spike's eyes lit up and burned. Before he could act, the minions were on them again, even in their dwindling numbers.

Buffy turned her back on Spike and kicked high, striking two cronies across the face before pushing them back. Behind her, she caught glimpses of him doing the same. Spike caught hold of the fallen torch, still burning, and set light to two vampires

Buffy heard their screams just as she dusted her own opponent and turned to face Spike only to have another lackey punch her hard. He grappled with her as best he could, but the dagger came out again and made quick work of separating head from body. When she turned back, Spike was already coming for her.

She met him halfway. Some potent emotion welled within her chest, strong and a little righteous. Something akin to heartache, urging her on. Buffy was drunk on it. Her forearm met Spike's as they simultaneously blocked each other's blows, but it didn't still them for a moment.

"Look at you, all pissed off and mighty," Spike said. His eyes widened as he drank in her angry expression. "Well, if looks could kill."

Buffy kicked him hard across the face and smacked his head hard the other way with a left hook. Spike fell and skidded across the cavern floor. He looked up at her through astonished yellow eyes.

"Don't need them to," Buffy said.

Buffy drew her dagger and advanced on him but Spike's hand shot out and grabbed her ankle.

She held her foot as steady as she could and tried to move quickly, ready to swing the dagger home, but he gave an almighty pull and swept her legs out from under her, his fist meeting her middle with all his strength. Buffy felt something crack and the agonizing pain that followed.

The dagger clattered away. Buffy struggled to stand and make a grab for it, but Spike was quicker. He trapped her legs between his and pinned her wrists down hard with the desperation of someone who wouldn't be given this chance again. Buffy squirmed and bucked, but he had the advantage of angle and the pain of a cracked rib, despite her greater strength.

The reality of her lack of control was starting to set in and seriously freak her out.

Spike growled from above her, staring down and grinning between jagged fangs.

Buffy wriggled again, trying to break the grip on her wrists, her mind working a million miles a minute. Spike was already leaning down. His face was close, too close and Buffy froze up, logic abandoned. She was too aware of everything as her heart pounded wildly. The very real presence of Spike leering over her, the way his fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of her wrists, the strength of his legs where they imprisoned hers. It was all there. Real and in Technicolor. And holy hell was it terrifying. She felt her eyes widen with the realization that, yes, he wasn't going to hesitate, he was going to kill her, and he was going to love it. His fangs were not two inches away from her face.

A thousand thoughts ran by in that millisecond.

You're going to cry.

_I'm not going to cry. _

You aren't going to find a way out of this.

_I'll find a way out of this. _

You're going to die.

_I am _not _going to die, _Buffy thought, composure returning full force.

"Now, I'm not going to give a big bloody speech and ruin the moment," Spike said with a short chuckle. Buffy gained an inch as he spoke, but Spike caught her again. "Hey! Would you stay still? Now, I'm going to kill you, that part's not up for debate. But before I do, I just want you to know that this is for Drusilla…"

Spike leaned down and Buffy gasped at the first brush of his lips against her neck, his tongue tasting her pulse point. She tensed up as he moved forward, some of his weight shifting off her. The angle was perfect to kick him off and over her head. Buffy's legs tensed, knees raised and ready—

"Ow!"

Spike reared back and shouted in pain once more as something hit him across the head for the second time. He fell to the side, knocked unconscious. Buffy breathed out in relief and began to sit up, but when she caught sight of what was above her, the calm fled and her heart fluttered. She clenched her jaw and pulled out a stake to attack. A minion grinned at her as she began to stand, and swung an unlit torch her way. Before it struck, Buffy could see Malum behind him. Their eyes met; his were gloating and shining, ravenous in his victory. The torch made contact and everything faded.

The world seemed fuzzy.

Buffy was somewhat aware of being dragged over rock and broken bottles. A piece of glass sliced her leg through her jeans, but the sting was dulled by the pain in her skull. Her head lolled to the side. She could see Spike's body being pulled along as well, hair glinting whitely in the darkness and his long coat snagging on small rocks and garbage.

Wherever they were, it was darker than even the underground cavern. So dark, so peaceful. Buffy fought to stay conscious, but the heaviness in her head was overtaking her. The last thing she felt was cold metal fastening around her wrists before it all went black.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to those of you who left such lovely reviews, so happy to hear that you're enjoying the story! Another thanks to those of you who followed or made a favorite.

Thanks so much to All4Spike for doing such wonderful beta work.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 14

Buffy woke with a small gasp and quickly wished that she were knocked out again.

Her head was pounding, a deep dull ache that seemed to go right to the center of her brain. She shifted and hissed. The cracked rib was still in evidence. It was sore and throbbing, but it would heal quickly. Thank god for Slayer benefits. The only other injury she could feel was a tingle of pain on her leg and she vaguely remembered being cut on something while being apprehended. Buffy's knees were drawn uncomfortably to her chest, sore and cramped, and her back was against something solid. Cool hard rock, she realized.

Buffy breathed deeply and tried to feel everything out now that she was coming to. She tilted her head as best she could through the pain, and looked up. Her wrists were shackled on either side of her, just above her head. The restraints were cool solid steel and tight enough to prevent escape. _I'm going to be limpy Buffy when I get out of this, _she thought, and shivered. It was chilly. A glance at her feet showed that her ankles had been given the same chained-up treatment as her wrists and that her shoes were gone. That meant any weapons hidden in her boots were missing too.

"Great," she said. Her voice was hoarse and her mouth dry. Buffy wondered how long she had been out and when she'd last had water.

"Oh, finally you're awake."

_No, please not—_

"You know, I was starting to think that you'd sleep forever, love."

Buffy groaned out loud. Slowly, she turned her head to the side and there he was.

Spike was chained up too, looking more irritated than anything else, although he had his fair share of injuries. His clothing looked wrinkled and dirty, as if he had been dragged across the cavern floor, and his usually slick hair was a mess of white curls on top of his head. A livid bruise bloomed across his temple and there was dried blood on his mouth as if he'd bitten himself.

"No," Buffy said and hit her head back against the rock.

"I know, right?" Spike said, scoffing. He shouted out into the darkness, "This is bloody unlawful imprisonment, this is!"

"Could you just shut up?" Buffy said sharply as her head swam from his noise, making her nauseous.

Spike clammed up, but still looked like he wanted to talk. Buffy breathed deeply through her nose and tried to formulate a plan. She couldn't see much in the dark, but gathered that they were chained somewhere even deeper in the earth than the underground cavern. They were in some kind of cave that had been carved out of bedrock, and who knew how deep it was? The only visibility came from a few flickering torches, lighting up yellow bones piled in a corner and a cavernous opening that led into darkness so deep it was solid. Buffy doubted her ability to navigate it.

"Where are we?" she asked when her head stopped spinning.

"Dunno, somewhere underground, I expect. To point out the obvious," Spike answered, glancing around as she had. "Thought that hole in the bastard's hideaway let out into the sewers. Apparently, I was bloody well wrong."

Buffy shut her eyes again and breathed slowly through her nose. _Okay, not good, _Buffy thought.

She glanced to Spike. "Why are you here? I thought you and the mullet squad were bosom buddies?"

"Hello, weren't you watching that fight?" Spike asked. "They don't give two figs about me. Besides, I was only in it for the killing and they won't even let me do that. I mean, is it so much to ask?"

The memory of him pinning her down and about to take a big bite out of her neck made Buffy less willing to talk and more inclined to slug him in his stupid face.

"He _needs _you," Spike continued with a petulant scoff. "Won't even let me take a crack at it. Nope, he's saving you, Goldilocks. Sally Hansen there's got big plans. Me, he's probably just gonna torture and I'll get to watch as he steals my well-earned glory. Overheard him, you know. Ponce won't kill me until he kills you. Wants me to know he bested me. I pissed him off right good."

"Yeah, you seem to do that to a lot of people," Buffy said, wriggling a little and rattling her chains. They held fast. She took a second long look around the cave. "Do they have a key somewhere?"

"Not that I could see," Spike said. "Only had it when they locked us up, and even that's a bit fuzzy."

"Damn it," Buffy said under her breath. _Okay, next time they come for water or food or bathroom breaks—do they have any of that stuff in vamp high security?—I'll get my feet around some minion-neck, snap it like something really snappable, get the key, and be home free._

"Thought I had an agreement with that wanker," Spike said. "Well, I was gonna double cross him, but still, all the prat had to lose was your precious self, nothing _personal. _Besides, a deal's a deal. Now look at me, stuck down here with you. Oh, happy day."

"Yeah, I'm not liking my own situation here much either," Buffy said, shooting him the angriest glare she could manage.

"You know his name means 'apple'?"

Buffy could only stare at him for that one.

"Or 'evil', maybe," Spike continued with a frown and mumbled, "Latin's not what it used to be." He tried to shrug and it made his chains clink. "Either way he's still a pretentious git."

Buffy ignored him. "I wish I knew what time it is."

"Round sunrise, I expect," Spike said. Buffy blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"You vamps have an internal bio clock?" Buffy said. "Are you guys menopausal?"

Spike snorted at that. "Hardly. I've been awake a good while longer than you and there's nothing better to do than count the hours. But, yeah, we can tell when the sun's coming up. Handy in a pinch."

"Weird," Buffy said under her breath and went back to rattling her chains. Only a minute awake and already she wanted to stake him. From this point on, Buffy wanted no more conversation. She went back to fiddling with her bonds and trying to ignore the vampire chained by her side.

* * *

She was trying to ignore him.

Spike stared as the Slayer squirmed and twisted in her bindings. There was nothing better to do. Besides, she made a pretty picture there, back arched and muscles clenched as she wriggled around in her chains, face screwed up in concentration. There was a familiar surge of arousal and his prick stirred to life in his jeans. Spike only stole quick looks at her and tried to urge the unwelcome feelings away. Still, she was a pretty girl; too young, and mouthy to all hell, maybe, but not bad to look at. Not bad at all.

What did it matter that the livid hatred he felt boiling in his belly was just as much in evidence as his cockstand? Who could blame him for getting a little hot and bothered?

_No one, that's who, _Spike thought, defensive against himself, _it's nothing. Almost killed her last night, would have reveled in it too, and would've _kept _on draining her 'til there wasn't a single rosy drop left_. The memory of the salty-sweet taste of her warm skin beneath his tongue as it trailed her throat wasn't doing much for his erection, and the hot surge of loathing he felt each time he looked at her bitchy little face twisted inside him. Spike cleared his throat and tried to get his head to follow suit.

"So, why'd you show?" Spike asked, unable to watch any longer.

Buffy grunted as she tried to rip the chains from the rock. "What?"

"Upstairs, you just burst in there, guns a blazing, like you could take out that many of my kind on your own. Had to know that you couldn't, even with no one there expecting you. So, what was with the guest spot?" Spike asked.

She turned and looked at him as if he were a particularly ugly insect that had started talking. Spike rolled his eyes at that.

"Look, we're stuck here and I don't fancy having another seven hours of listening to the pipes drip far above our heads. Excuse me for trying to make some conversation," he said in defense.

"We're mortal enemies, we don't converse," Buffy said and went back to curling her fingers around the chains and pulling.

"We did just a while ago."

"I was disoriented. Any and all bizzaro actions excused," Buffy said, pulling harder. She let out a soft cry of pain and relaxed against the rock, exhausted.

"Gonna hurt yourself that way," Spike said with a jeering smile.

Buffy glared at him and remained silent.

"Come on Slayer, I'm bloody bored here," Spike said, clicking his heels together and rattling his ankle shackles.

"Not my problem."

Spike sighed in irritation and made another go at his own chains, despite his arms and wrists being sore and raw from pulling at them all night. Not that he'd tell her that, of course. Spike gave a few almighty tugs, growled in frustration, and relaxed back against the cold rock. "It's no good. They're too deep in the foundation."

"Yeah, I figured," Buffy said with a sigh, her eyes glued to the ground.

Spike stayed quiet a moment, staring at the scant firelight dancing on his boots.

"I wanted to kill you," she said. Spike looked up and at her, curious. "That's why I came. I was looking for you, like, in a specific sense."

Spike bit back a sarcastic comment, instead asking, "Whatever did I do to earn such a violent visit?"

Buffy laughed humorlessly. "You're really asking me that? After all you've done since you got here? The guys you killed at the airport were the last straw, I had to—"

"Hold on a tick, I didn't kill any—"

"Does it really matter if it was you?" Buffy asked, staring at him pointedly.

"No," Spike said with a shrug. "Guess not."

"So there's your answer."

Spike absorbed what she was saying, a little pleased that he'd had such a profound and annoying effect on her. Besides that, he'd never seen her look _less_ mighty. The hoarse sound of her voice and how small she looked in those chains didn't quite convey a warrior, rather someone too old for their age. He didn't know how that made him feel.

"You thought it would make it better, didn't you?" Spike said, never taking his eyes off her as she looked at the floor instead of his face. "You thought that everything in your miserable life would be fixed if you took out big bad Spike—and don't even try to deny it, Slayer. You've got one _miserable_ life. Every time I look at you, I can see it. You're hurting."

Buffy clenched her jaw and looked at him again, eyes far too hardened for someone so young, but softer than they had been not a moment ago when she was all piss and vinegar.

"Maybe I did think that," she conceded. She glanced up to her wrists and back to him. Her face was still unreadable and cold. "I guess it didn't work."

Something in her voice was younger than he'd ever heard it.

She turned her face away from him, eyes locked on her little bare feet.

Spike didn't say anything; he was a bit caught up in it all. Chained to a wall and having a heart to heart with the Slayer of all people. _There's one thing I never thought I'd do. _The sound of approaching footsteps was enough for him to tear his eyes away from her. Spike glared at the approaching lackeys, the very same who had dragged him along to the bleeding airport, as they emerged from the darkness, cackling.

"Check it out, Indigo. Spike in chains," one said, earning a hooting laugh from his companion.

The other vamp clutched his gut, doubled over with mirth. "Oh man, Milo, that's the best!"

"That's all it takes to get you laughing? You two really need to brush up on your humor," Spike said.

"I've got to agree here. I could pun circles around you dorks. Literally. Then again, judging by how you fought upstairs, so could most in the geriatric ward," Buffy said.

_Cheeky bint, _he thought, unsure of whether it was admiration for that bold streak or disgust at having to hear her ridiculous self prattle on.

"Very funny, Slayer," Indigo said with a grin. "Try laughing when Malum guts you like a fish."

"So it's ceviche Slayer, now is it?" Spike said. "Not sure if I find that so appetizing."

"Shut up, Spike," Milo said. He nodded to his partner and they approached with caution.

They moved closer with purpose, eyeing Buffy warily. Spike could see that one held a bag of blood in his hands, the other a gallon of water.

Spike's face shifted when the bag was pressed to his lips. He tore in through the plastic and he sucked eagerly, unaware of how hungry he had been until that moment. He looked sideways and saw Buffy drinking her water with the same desperation. The frayed collar of Indigo's Winger shirt dipped low as he gave the Slayer her drink. Around his neck was a chain with a key dangling from it beneath the cotton.

Spike saw the Slayer's eyes widen. She jerked forward as if she could grab it with will alone, but the two minions were already pulling back, probably thinking she was just urgently thirsty. If they knew she had seen the key, they didn't act like it.

"Just wait until Malum comes for you two tonight. That's when the fun begins," Indigo said.

Spike chuckled. "His majesty has _fun_ now? Wouldn't have thought that he—"

Before he could finish, Milo kicked him hard in the stomach then threw a punch to his eye. Spike gritted his teeth and strained against his chains in an attempt to get in his own kicks and hits, fangs bared, every instinct urging him to rip the lackeys to shreds.

"Milo, the king said no touching," Indigo said in warning, looking almost terrified at the prospect of being caught in disobedience. Milo stopped mid-punch.

"Malum said we can't touch the girl, he didn't say anything about him," Milo said with a nasty grin that his partner returned.

Spike spat his own blood from his mouth with a broken laugh to hide the pain and gave them a dark look. "You two had better hope that I never get out of this."

They howled with laughter. Spike knew he wasn't much of a threat chained up the way he was, but still, it was a tad humiliating. The Slayer was watching the exchange with that righteous, judgmental expression on her face as if they each disgusted her in their own special way. Spike only glared at the minions harder.

"Just wait. You'll be wishing it was us when Malum's the one doing the punishing," Indigo said, his excitement bubbling through.

"Good evening now, _Mr. _Spike, Slayer," Milo said, mimicking Malum's accent and bowing in a ridiculous over the top fashion.

He and his companion disappeared into the darkness, laughing wildly.

Spike glared after them, hatred rumbling through him. He felt his eye swelling and blood trickling from his split lip. He sniffed and turned to the Slayer.

"Did you see the key?" Spike whispered.

"Yeah, I did," she replied just as softly.

Spike was quiet a moment. He didn't want to go out that way, some kind of plaything for the world's biggest wanker before watching the sadistic prig steal the one thing he fought for.

_Not again, never again_.

It didn't matter how different it was. All he could think of was Angelus.

He threw a glance at the Slayer, her eyes far away, obviously trying to come up with some kind of plan. She didn't deserve what Malum had in store for her. Spike had got a fair earful every so often. The details he knew were vague, but still troubling enough to get his blood boiling—metaphorically speaking, of course.

Months of torture, of ritual, of wasting away all that vigor and strength and skill until there was nothing left, just a broken shell to execute. No Slayer should die that way. This girl especially should go out fighting. As much as Spike wanted to snap her skinny little neck, as much as he hated her, he had to admit she deserved better. His next words were like bile in his throat.

"All right, so, white flag here. I'll quit if you'll quit," Spike said quickly under his breath, his eyes never leaving the cavernous exit that the cronies had disappeared into. "You help me, I'll help you. Once we're out, we can try to kill each other again like sane people. Deal?"

"You think you're a people?"

"_Deal_?"

Buffy was quiet as she stared at him, eyes burning. Spike's nostrils flared. Why couldn't she just give him a straight answer? Instead, she was watching him as if she were trying to see through him, searching for ulterior motives.

Spike could honestly say that at that moment, he didn't have any.

_I wanna see that poofter turn to dust, _he thought. As much as he could find it inside himself to hate this girl, he could respect her; he hated Malum more.

The Slayer nodded slowly. "Okay. Deal."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: **

I just want to check and make sure there are readers out there on this site *waves*. I'll continue to post regularly no matter what, but there were no reviews on the last chapter. If you're out there and have some thoughts or predictions to share, please leave a review. It would make me an extra happy author :)

Thanks so much to those of you who followed or made a favorite.

Betaed by All4Spike.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 15

Spike was humming again.

Something that he had taken to doing under his breath each time Buffy got too quiet, all while absently tapping his feet, obviously and indescribably bored. She was too tired to snap at him, too tired to tell him to stop, or that it was annoying, or any of the other things that she would have said if she'd had the energy. Every nerve was on fire. Her stomach was churning with hunger and her eyes ached from going without sleep for so long. The needy-physical stuff she could deal with. The worst part was the anxiety. The fear.

_I'm the Slayer. I'm not supposed to be afraid of these things. _

It made her feel small and helpless. There were no words for how much she hated it.

At least they had a plan. Granted, not a _great_ plan, but a plan.

It had been difficult forming one of those with only Spike to work with. He seemed to think he could just go barreling into a fight with only the barest ideas of what he would do when he got there.

"And that's a risk that we can't afford to take," Buffy had said.

"You did," he had reminded her with an evil grin.

"Did I ask for your input?" was all Buffy said in response, terse and tired from the long hours in chains.

_Long hours ain't getting any shorter, _Buffy thought, eyelids heavy.

_Don't fall asleep, _she thought over and over, an internal mantra, but her inner chant was almost soothing.

But it was hard to listen to her brain's more rational parts. She was drowsy, sore to the bone, and there was Spike just to the left of her humming something in a nice deep voice that, while clearly loud and angry music in actuality, sounded strangely melodic coming from his throat.

_No, gotta stay awake, gotta…_

Buffy's head lolled to the side and her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed out, "Spike…shut up…"

* * *

Buffy sat cross-legged on a wooden high-backed throne which was splintered in places, sharpening away at a stake. To the side, a pile of them, dull and unattended, lay on a small table atop her unfinished homework, the bare minimum done.

She finished whittling and blew away the fine bits of wood. They swirled in the air around her; dust.

Buffy watched the spiraling ashes fall. She looked up and saw that she was in her bedroom, only, not her bedroom. Pastoral paintings lined the walls like imitation frescoes and a red curtain hung where her door should be, but her windows were the same. Victorian, almost fairytale-like architecture that looked oddly out of place with the backstage-club décor. Through the glass, Buffy could see the fenced-in yard and surrounding Cleveland neighborhood.

She felt a shiver run up her spine. There was a gap between the curtain and the floor where she could see shadows moving in a sensuous dance against a backdrop of flashing lights. Buffy glanced back up, and looked to the stake.

"Not too bad," she said, touching the point of it. Her finger came away with a tiny bubble of blood. "Would make a Watcher proud."

Everything looked too bright, saturated with color. Mr. Gordo was pinker than pink, verging on magenta where he sat at her desk beneath one of the strange paintings on the wall. Buffy glanced down. A notebook lay at her feet, dated 1996. Her name was on the cover.

"A memory coming back to haunt me?" she wondered aloud. She sat on the floor and stroked the spiral spine. "Better be a good one."

The pages were covered in writing, the faux-sophisticated scribble of a fifteen year old who was too distracted during class. I's dotted with hearts, flowers in the margins, and a smiley face on every page. Her innermost thoughts and secrets hidden within the carefree scrawl from algebra class. Each time she tried to focus, to read, the words grew fuzzier, the smileys grew fangs.

"I should remember this," Buffy whispered, brow furrowed.

Stake met paper. The point of it ran jaggedly along the blue-lined whiteness, slicing through those words in dangerous patterns. The ink bled from the pages. Buffy tried harder, using the stake to soak up the blue-black flow before attacking once more. She dragged it across the page, trying to make new words, but it only tore deeper. The gash she ripped was gaping and savage, producing an unending pulsing flow.

Buffy felt tears of frustration bead in the corners of her eyes as she struck again and again. The floor was slick with ink.

"It's not going to work, Buffy. You can't do it by yourself."

"Mom," Buffy said, glancing up and tilting her head. Her mother stood by the window, dressed in a formal pantsuit and holding a picture frame beneath her arm. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, it won't be for long," Joyce answered. "I wish I could stay, but there's a meeting at the gallery. We have a new shipment of sculptures made from feathers and glue. They're very prestigious, fragile though."

"That sounds nice," Buffy said.

"If only," Joyce said, her smile wistful. She glanced at the notebook, still bleeding all over the floor. "You should know how to use that. You used to."

Buffy furrowed her brow. "I can't remember."

"All you have now are weapons," Joyce said, still smiling sadly and far too calmly.

Buffy looked down at her hands, coated in viscous grey mud.

"I know this," Buffy whispered.

She brought her dripping hands to her face and smeared the mud generously across her skin. It clung to every pore and something surged through her. The sensation brought shivers. Buffy raised her head, feeling an unnameable and ancient power course through her veins. Her blood sang with it.

A small girl stood at the side of her throne, pretty, but strong. Her face was still a bit round with youth and her clothing looked like something from a period piece, distinctly Chinese and made for a warrior. She watched the ink flow from the notebook on the floor. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held some terrible knowledge.

She opened her mouth to speak. The words that came forth were Mandarin, or maybe Cantonese—Buffy couldn't tell—but someone spoke English from the throne's other side.

"Look at it bleed."

This person was more woman than girl, with gorgeous features, and dark skin and eyes. Her hair was styled in an afro and she wore all black. She was fashionable, in a really seventies kind of way. Buffy's eyes lingered on her coat; it was so familiar.

"It's flowing like poetry," she said, smiling ruefully. Buffy turned to the Chinese girl at her other side, still speaking her native tongue. It was the woman's voice that Buffy could understand. "But someone has got to reform. Tick tock, golden girl. You can't always trust what you see. Just look at the beautiful mess you made here, killer."

Buffy stared the girl down. "Bleeding isn't beautiful, and I'm no killer."

The girl chuckled. Her eyes seemed to stare right through Buffy and a cryptic smile bloomed on her lips. "Aren't you, though?"

"Buffy."

When Buffy looked up, both girls were gone. Her mother was staring at her in concern.

"Find someone to take off that mask," Joyce said. "It really looks very silly, Buffy."

Ms. Davies opened the latch and peered in through the window, dressed in a prim tweed suit. A large crest was sewn like a scout badge into a sash that she wore over her heart. "Joyce, aren't you coming?"

"Soon," Joyce said. She turned back to Buffy. "She's going to help me get there."

"I don't think she should do that," Buffy said, but Joyce was already climbing out onto the roof.

Buffy was alone, the room strangely quiet. She took hesitant steps toward the fluttering red curtain and pulled it back.

It was her old house, the living room exactly as she remembered it.

Buffy stopped by an end table near the stairs. A picture of her mom and dad sat there beside an African vase from Joyce's personal collection. Buffy smiled as she stared at the photo, taken just last year. They looked so happy, his arm secure around her shoulders and a smile on her face. Buffy heard a soft noise, like feet padding on the carpet.

"Hello?" Buffy said, walking toward the source of the noise with careful steps. "I know there's someone here. I heard you…"

She stood at the mouth of the short hallway. The door to her room was ajar.

The hall seemed to go on forever as Buffy walked toward her room, faster, and faster until she was inside, standing still.

Something was different.

Buffy moved slowly to her mirror, which was covered in photographs of her friends from Los Angeles. They all looked so happy, cheering, laughing, or standing in a large group on the steps of Hemery on game day. Buffy frowned as she looked them over. She wasn't in any of the pictures.

"Perfect, I'm lost," Buffy said, annoyed. She looked around the bedroom then back to the mirror in irritation. "Apparently, there are no maps through weirdness-world."

There was a tingle on the back of her neck that made her freeze. She couldn't see anyone in the mirror behind her, but she could feel them there.

Then he was humming and she knew.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked the empty mirror.

She turned and saw him standing there, running his fingers with familiarity along her bedspread, as if he slept there every night. Comfortable and calm.

Spike stopped and gave her that cocky grin, stalking toward her with his fangs out. Buffy inhaled sharply and realized that she didn't have a stake. He blinked at her reaction, features melting back to human.

Buffy looked up at him in what, for once, she could say was genuine curiosity and asked calmly, "Why are you here with me?"

Spike looked at her as if the answer were obvious and cocked his head to the side. "Because you need me to be."

* * *

Buffy blinked as she came to. Her body was still sore and aching, but her head felt clearer after finally getting some rest. She sighed softly and stretched as best she could in her shackles. Maybe sleep was worth it. _Maybe.._. But maybe she shouldn't have gone to sleep at all. Buffy hadn't had a dream so intense since Los Angeles. Since before she knew she was the Slayer.

_And what good was that? All it did was introduce me to vamps and demons, not to mention ending my social life. Those dreams got me stuck here in No Fun Land where it's no fun for Buffy all the time._

Buffy glanced around the dimly lit cave as it all came back to her with a fresh spark of panic.

"And speaking of no fun…" she muttered to herself.

She frowned. How much time had passed since she'd been asleep?

"Spike," Buffy said. She turned her head to see him better and frowned. "Spike?"

Spike was definitely sleeping, his head lolled on his shoulder away from her and his face was in shadow, but Buffy could tell. His chest was rising and falling evenly. For someone so twitchy when he was awake, Spike seemed to be a deep sleeper. Buffy frowned as she watched him breathe and shook it off. She couldn't worry about the weirdness that was this vampire, she needed him awake.

"Spike!" she said in a harsh whisper.

He muttered something unintelligible, but slept on.

"Spike," Buffy said, a little louder. No luck.

Buffy glanced to the exit and sucked in a breath of courage. "Spike!"

He woke with a full body jerk at her shout, rattling his chains loudly and looking around. His fists were clenched as if he were under attack.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike muttered when he realized who had woken him. He relaxed back against the rock and shook his head. "Was starting to hope you were a nightmare, pet."

"No such luck," Buffy said.

"Couldn't find it in your little Slayer heart of goodness to let me catch a bit more sleep? You're not the only one who got clonked over the head by Nancy boy upstairs," Spike asked, shifting restlessly as if he were about to nod off again.

"Don't even think about it. You were majorly out. As in, like a light. I had to yell to get you awake," Buffy said, "and it's not an experience that I'm keenly waiting to relive."

"Yeah, well, not so easy to wake up yourself, Slayer," Spike said. "Your fault I fell asleep anyway. Wouldn't bat an eye to anything I did. Then you started breathing all in rhythm, soothing-like…" He got a nasty look on his face. "You've got the cutest little snore."

Buffy didn't want to show him how irritated she was. She kept her face cool and calm as she stared him down. "Update, Spike. I didn't wake you for lame commentary. I need you to tell me how close it is to sunset."

"Sunset? Why sunset? I thought we were waiting 'til the two mullets get back," Spike said, frowning.

"Because there's a big possibility that while we were sleeping, they did, and now we're waiting on a much crazier, more sacrificial-type party," Buffy said, watching it sink in.

"Okay, well, I couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes," Spike said defensively.

"I don't know, you were pretty far gone," Buffy said. "You have got the _cutest _little snore."

"Oh ha ha, very clever," Spike said, rolling his eyes. He was quiet a moment. "Don't have a buggering clue about the time, but…feels like daylight."

Buffy released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. "Then he's not coming."

"Not yet, anyway," Spike said.

_Well there goes my good mood. _

Still, she wasn't mad at him, not really.

_It's not like he's wrong…_Buffy thought and started. _Wow, there's one thing I had filed under 'will never think in my life'._

It was still definitely in the category of 'will never say out loud'.

"So now we wait," Spike said. He sighed and shifted his feet so that his chains rattled. "I dunno about you, Slayer, but I'm not feeling the most patient."

"Not really, no," Buffy said.

There was a strange silence. Not awkward, really, but heavy and present and real.

Buffy's heart raced and her stomach knotted with more than just hunger as she thought about what it would take for them to pull off what they needed to do, the chanciness involved. More than that, she was exhausted and sore and furious with herself. Buffy could feel the tears prickling behind her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? She was humiliated.

She'd failed as the Slayer. She had lost. She'd been beaten.

_At least he's humiliated too, _Buffy thought, searching for comfort in the impossible situation, _I mean, they're _supposed _to hate me. _

Buffy looked skyward—_well, rock-roof-ward_—and questioned once again why she had such rotten luck.

"Hey. Slayer…" Spike said in a soft voice, startling her. He sounded almost sympathetic.

_He makes me feel all see-throughable_.

Buffy didn't know if she could take it, not now.

She sniffed, working to keep her voice as measured and cool as possible. "What?"

Buffy could hear him move and the clink of metal that accompanied it as if he were trying to see her face. Buffy turned even further away. He was the last person she wanted to know the extent of her embarrassment.

Spike scoffed and relaxed against the rock.

"Nothing, never mind," he muttered.

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed. "I hate this."

"I'm right there with you, pet," Spike said.

Buffy laughed, dry and sardonic, almost chillingly so. "No, you're not."

"Take a look around and I think you'll see a certain similarity," Spike replied.

"You don't get it," Buffy said harshly, a hollow feeling deep in her chest. "If we get out of this, and somehow on the off chance that I don't stake you, you get to run back to your demony ways. Just, do whatever you want. It's not like that for me."

Buffy dared to glance to him. He cocked his head and stared at her in a way that made her feel like cellophane.

"Why not?" Spike asked.

Buffy tried to smile, but knew there was a grimace in its place. "Die here, die out there…either way, I die the Slayer." She frowned. "And either way, I am going to die. I'm going to die doing this job that I never even signed up for, and…and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Sometimes I think that—" She stopped herself and shook her head.

Spike remained strangely quiet.

"School sucks," Buffy said to fill the silence, the words coming easier now. "My family lives on the other side of the country, and my Watcher…"

"What's he like?" Spike asked, looking a bit curious.

"He is a she," Buffy answered. "And she's very scholarly. Scholarly, and clean, and…I kind of hate her. A little."

Spike cocked an eyebrow, genuine amusement playing about his lips.

Buffy smiled genuinely despite herself. "Okay, a lot."

He chuckled at that.

Buffy laughed a little too. A short, warm laugh that wasn't entirely painful. It felt kind of good after all that had been going on lately.

The moment ended and reality sunk in.

"We shouldn't talk all…" Buffy said, searching for the right word. "It's too…"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Spike answered, but he was still looking at her strangely. "Mortal enemies…" he rolled his eyes, "you know the bit."

"Right. Exactly. Let's go over the plan again then," Buffy said, her tone as serious and clipped as the strictest General.

Spike rattled his chains as he stretched. "Whatever you say, love."

Buffy liked the sound of that. Whatever she said, for once. She didn't know why the offhand answer sat so well with her, but for a moment, she could have kissed him.

She shook it off and went back to business. "Okay, so when the guards come in…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: **Thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter (a special shout out to the guest reviews that I can't reply to). I don't mind at all if anyone lurks, It's just nice to know that there are readers :) Another thanks to anyone who followed or made a favorite.

Betaed by All4Spike.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 16

"You really think this is gonna work?"

Buffy sighed. "I can only hope."

They had been waiting for what felt like an hour, talking over their admittedly flimsy plan for escape. Buffy was hungry, and thirsty, _and I so have to pee, _she thought. Spike's snide remarks and jittery movements weren't helping her to relax at all. Buffy leaned back against the coolness of the rock, trying to ignore it all. The minions had to be coming soon, they just had to. It was either them or Malum, and Buffy didn't want to consider what might happen with the latter.

_Big torture, big ouchies, big trouble, _Buffy thought. She pushed those thoughts deep down.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you get out of this?" Spike asked.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm just curious," he said in defense, his eyes flickered over her once as if daring her to tell.

"Hospital," Buffy said. Her stomach growled and cramped. She frowned. "Then a really big hamburger."

Spike shifted his shoulders and shot her a grin. "So, does this mean when we part ways, I'm not dust in the wind, then?"

_Oh, right. Staking. _

In the midst of all the horrible things, she'd almost forgotten something so mundane.

"Apparently my hunger is affecting the more rational parts of my brain," Buffy said. She stared at him with a pointed expression, trying sound especially stern. "You're next. After the burger."

A grin played around his mouth as Spike turned from her, as if he had a secret, and Buffy was left in annoyed silence.

The soft sound of footsteps made Buffy look up.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"Yeah, some nasty thing's creeping about out there. You ready?"

Buffy met his eyes. "As I'll ever be."

Indigo and Milo rounded the corner of the cavern from out of the darkness, but something was different. There was no swagger, no hoot-and-holler attitude.

They approached slowly, with measured steps. Both were outfitted in robes of deep red, and firelight made their fangs and bumpies look even more sinister. Milo had a leather scabbard suspended from a belt around his waist and a dark cloth draped over his arm like some kind of pagan god. Indigo carried a white bowl, smooth but for a small crack at the rim where some liquid formed droplets. The key still hung around his neck.

_Yeesh with the clashing, _Buffy thought. Their mullets were still as teased as ever. _So weird with_ _the robey look. _

Spike burst out laughing beside her. "What the hell are you wearing? You look like a couple o' poncy frat boys. Don't you think, Slayer?"

Buffy was silent as she watched them approach. Her eyes focused on the bowl in Indigo's hands. A trickle of something dark and red dripped down the side of it. Banter was definitely a no go.

"Spike, stop it," she said, heart racing.

His laughter died off and he looked to her in confusion.

The minions approached, chanting in hushed tones, ignoring their prisoners. Their expressions were unreadable and cold, as if etched in stone. Indigo held the bowl reverently, Milo laid down a cloth on the cavern's stone floor.

"What are they saying?" Buffy whispered.

Spike shook his head and frowned. "How should I know?"

"You _said _you spoke Latin and that sounds pretty Latiny to me. Just translate before they stop, and tell me what the hell is going on."

Spike muttered something with 'bloody' and 'bint', but Buffy was beyond caring. She just watched him as he listened intently.

"So, what are they saying?" Buffy whispered.

"Hold on, they're talking too damn fast," Spike said, screwing up his face in concentration. He was quiet a moment. "I'm getting bits of it. 'Spill…first blood', uh, something about 'atonement'. No that's not right. _'Rites_'! It's 'rites', and, um, 'warriors'…They're calling on their leader to taste the first drop."

Buffy groaned.

Milo stood in the cavern's center, gesturing from his forehead to where the cloth lay and back, eyes closed. Indigo drew ever closer.

"I can't understand them now, whatever they're speaking, doesn't sound right," Spike whispered.

The language had changed to something garbled and guttural; words that rasped and choked in the throat. It didn't sound like any Latin Buffy had heard before.

Buffy's eyes locked on Indigo, who was still chanting as if in a daze.

She turned to Spike. "I figure this is a 'now or never' type situation."

He smirked, more ready to fight than anything else, and gave her a slow grin. "I figure you're right."

Buffy quieted as Indigo knelt before her and placed the bowl between her feet.

He bowed down, so close to her that her skin crawled, and dipped his whole hand in the liquid. It emerged glistening, coated with red. Still chanting, he brought a dripping index finger to his brow and drew a serpentine design in two quavering strokes. He bowed even further, his head just between her feet as if he knelt in prayer.

_Come on, a little closer…_

He was close enough.

Buffy caught him around the neck with her ankles and twisted. Indigo's neck snapped with a sharp crack, rendering him immobile.

"You need to learn the meaning of 'personal space'," Buffy said, kicking away his motionless body as best she could.

She winced as she caught the key from around his neck between her dirty toes. She maneuvered it carefully from beneath his chin and the over top of his head, then thrust it up in the direction of her hands. Buffy caught it by the tip of her index finger and sighed in relief that it hadn't gone flying.

Milo stopped his chanting slowly as if he were coming out of a trance. His yellow eyes widened in rage as he took in the scene before him and he shrieked. Buffy's eyes locked on him. He ran forward, just as she began working the lock from an awkward angle that made her wrist twinge. Buffy wriggled the key in desperation, watching as the vampire barreled towards her.

A soft clink of release, and her wrist was free.

One arm out of the chains, when he was close enough she punched hard into Milo's stomach. He doubled over in pain and she got his nose, feeling a satisfying crunch. Milo went staggering back, giving her enough time to unlock her other wrist. The shackles on her ankles were the next to go and Buffy stood.

Milo growled, wiping away the blood that dripped down his nose to his chin, and approached her with caution. Buffy's first movements were equally careful as she stretched her sore muscles for the first time in hours. Everything hurt or ached, and screamed with need, but none of that could matter right now.

She didn't waste any time.

"Spike!" Buffy said, tossing him the key.

He caught it in one shackled hand and began furiously digging it into the lock.

Milo was staring at Spike, but his eyes flickered to Buffy. His hands balled up at his sides as he tried to inch around her, as if he couldn't decide which one of them would be more dangerous loose. Then she remembered. _He can't touch me. _Weren't those the orders? Did they still apply? _I guess it's time to find out, _Buffy thought as Milo's eyes fixed on Spike. He broke into a run, but she was faster.

Buffy's fist collided with his face and Milo stumbled back, still trying to find a way to prevent himself from touching her.

"Nuh-uh, eyes on me," Buffy said.

Buffy kicked high, aiming for his bloodied nose. Milo dodged it, avoiding her, but she caught his arms, forcing him to fight, and struggled to get to the knife at his belt. Milo gave up his dodge technique and grasped back tightly, his nails digging into her skin. He made no moves to kill her. Instead, he twisted her to the side, putting pressure on her injured ribs. Buffy breathed in sharply, but broke free and clocked him.

"Hurry up!" Buffy shouted over her shoulder, pushing Milo back and into one of the torches on the wall.

Sparks rained down on him and he screamed, brushing them off his teased hair. He was furious now, fangs bared and very yellow. Milo got a lucky punch into Buffy's wounded side and grinned nastily when he saw her pained reaction.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Spike said, unshackling his ankles now.

Milo reached for the scabbard at his side. He drew a long-bladed knife, carved with strange symbols. Buffy prepared to dodge his swings, but he surprised her, drawing back and slamming the hilt against her injured side with both hands. She cried out and staggered into the wall, dizzy with the pain of it.

"I'm not going to kill you," Milo said, "that's Malum's job. But, I am going to enjoy watching you squirm on that wall, as he—"

Milo grunted as he was hit twice from behind with hard heavy punches that left him limp and disoriented. Spike caught the knife from Milo's loose grip before it could fall and cut swiftly through the vampire's skinny neck. Astonishment froze on Milo's face for a moment before his dust fell on Buffy's feet.

Spike dropped the knife and looked down at her and held out a hand.

She let him pull her up, feeling a bit of disbelief.

"Thanks," Buffy said, her tone clipped. The word felt too weird.

"Yeah, sure thing," Spike muttered just as awkwardly.

Buffy breathed through her nose. She twisted experimentally to her injured side. Pain shot through her, she stumbled forward and grasped his shoulder with a gasp. Buffy inhaled a ragged breath, trying to keep her composure as she moved carefully, checking for further injury. Spike jumped as she gripped the leather under her hand tightly with each twinge of soreness. He clenched his jaw, but didn't give any verbal indication of pain.

"All in one piece there, Slayer?" Spike asked.

Buffy ghosted a hand along her side. Now that she was free, the physical discomforts were starting to add up. She shook with the intensity of it all. "I don't think he broke anything that wasn't already, well, broken."

She released him and stepped back.

"Close call," Spike said.

"Almost too close," she answered.

Spike nodded in agreement and moved to reach for something on the wall behind her.

"Wait," Buffy said. She caught his wrist and stopped him in his path.

"Oi! We've got a truce, remember?" Spike said, shaking her off and standing back, fists raised. His eyes flickered over her and the way she was staring him down. "What are you doing? We've gotta go."

"I'm laying down some ground rules," Buffy said. Her eyes flickered to the cave exit and back to him. She took a step closer to show she meant business. Spike breathed in sharply and arched away from her as if she were about to punch, but Buffy caught him by the lapel of his coat and made him meet her eyes. His own were close, dark with loathing, and very blue. Buffy's gaze didn't waver. "If you do _anything_ out there to make me think I made a mistake in giving you that key, you _will _regret it."

"Like I'd do anything that stupid anyway," Spike muttered, shrugging her hand off his coat and increasing the distance between them. He retrieved the fallen knife and swung it once in the air before walking over to Indigo's still form and dusting him.

Buffy arched a brow in response, crossing her arms. "Uh-huh. And I should trust you, why?"

Spike scoffed as if she was being stupid and Buffy found her fingers itching for a stake.

"Because, blondie, there may be upwards of twenty-five lackeys out there. Neither one of us has so much as a bleeding shot of taking them on our own," Spike said. "Look, we had an agreement, all right? You and me, getting out of this scrap. Together."

"Yeah, but then comes the part where you try snacking on my neck," Buffy reminded him. She shook her hair back over her shoulders and stared him down. "And when that time comes, I'm not going to let you."

There was a tick in his jaw and Buffy saw his free hand clench into a fist before releasing as he glanced at the exit once more. Spike seemed to shudder as he repressed his anger. He sighed. "We'll worry about that when it comes to it. If we don't get moving now, we might as well get back in those chains and sit like sodding pansies waiting to be plucked. Is that what you want?"

Buffy only glared at him.

"No," she said, a terse reply.

"Then let's go."

"Wait," Buffy said, stopping him with a hand on his chest and pushing him back.

Spike cocked an eyebrow in expectation.

"I want the knife," Buffy demanded.

Spike frowned, as if he couldn't comprehend her reasoning. "You want the—?"

"Knife. I want the knife, Spike. I barely trust you with me in the dark as it is, and I will even less if you're holding that. You might get some choppy vampire urge and then it's bisected Buffy leaving stains all over the squeaky clean bedrock, so hand it over," she said, gesturing to the shiny blade.

"How do I know you won't do the same to me?" Spike said in a low growl, narrowing his eyes and tightening his grip on the knife's handle, his white knuckles now blindingly so.

_Well, now that he mentions it…_Buffy thought. No, he was right. Neither one of them could make it out on their own.

"I won't," Buffy said firmly. He still looked hesitant, breathing harshly in anger. The light from a nearby torch cast his face in angles. The starkness of dark hollows and smooth pale skin made his rage sharp and deadly. She sighed, softening her voice with sincerity. "Really. I won't."

Spike blinked as if she'd surprised him and Buffy held her hand out, resolved, but no longer angry. His soft expression faded as he looked at her expectant fingers waiting before him. He handed it over with a sneer.

Buffy didn't have the energy to get irritated with him for it. She just tested the weight of the weapon in her hand and felt her heart flutter. She breathed in a deep, fortifying breath. This was their one shot for escape. This was it.

Spike pointedly walked around her, gesturing to the wall. She watched as he grabbed a torch and gestured toward the maw of the cavern, leading into total darkness. "Shall we, then?"

Buffy sighed. "We shall."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, or made a favorite. You guys are fantastic!

Betaed by the incredible All4Spike.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 17

Bugger, it was dark.

Dark and cool and endless.

Spike stalked ahead of the Slayer, torch in hand, his pace nearly frantic and his stride overlong, covering his inner doubt with exaggerated assuredness on the surface.

Buffy had to almost jog to keep up with him as he navigated through the never-ending darkness.

Somewhere close by, Spike could feel the Hellmouth, its energy wicked and very hot. The sense of it made him feel almost giddy, but he knew that it meant they were that much closer to not escaping.

_Mr. Claws was gonna sacrifice the Slayer there, _he reminded himself, _so we've got miles to go before we sleep. Bloody brilliant…_

"How do they find their way around down here, bat sonar?" the Slayer asked as she hurried along. She flashed a quiet, fleeting smile to herself at her little joke. It was a nice sight, that smile. There and gone before you could blink, but bright and hopeful. It reached her eyes.

Spike fell behind her by a step so that he could watch her for just a moment longer, to take her in completely. Buffy stopped and turned to stare at him, distrustful.

He smirked as sarcastically as he could to cover up his momentary lapse of sanity. "Unlikely, Slayer."

_Nothing special, just a little flash of teeth, _Spike thought.

He concentrated instead on how it would feel finally to get his hands around her throat or his fangs deep in her neck. To feel her struggle, and hear her final breath choke in her throat as he drained the last drop.

That helped a little.

A soft sound to their left caught Spike's ear.

"You hear that?" he said, tilting his head and listening.

Buffy tensed. "No."

"Come on," he said. Grabbing the Slayer's wrist, he pulled her along behind him, going blindly forward, hoping to find some kind of cover.

Up ahead, amidst a cluster of stalactites, was a small passage formed of thick rock structures. The torch illuminated a dead end. Spike pulled her into the corner of craggy rock, hoping that whoever was coming couldn't see the light inside the small opening.

The Slayer struggled a bit against his grip, but Spike didn't let up until they were squeezed as tightly as they could be, without accidentally setting anyone on fire. He still held her wrist. Her skin was warm and soft, a bit raw from the shackles, and deceptively breakable. Spike allowed the pad of his thumb to brush across her pounding pulse point and he repressed a groan at the feeling of it. Silky skin and rushing blood. He breathed in her scent, almost dizzy from the sensations. Buffy pushed back with her shoulder when he got a bit too close for comfort, holding the knife aloft in a threat.

"_Don't_ touch me," she warned.

Spike released her and raised his hand where she could see. Better safe than sorry while she was so pissed off and stake-happy. "Be quiet a minute, would you? I heard something."

The Slayer shut it at that, looking more worried about being caught than anything else. Spike kept her backed up in the corner, drawing as close as he thought she'd allow and holding the fire far from his body.

At the first sound of movement outside, Spike froze, his back to the mouth of the small passage. He could feel Buffy's breathing tickle his throat when she peered over his shoulder, and his eyes fixed on the wild tattoo of her pulse. Something told him that she'd taste even better than Xin Rong had. His mouth watered and his cock hardened.

What would it feel like to run his fingers through that hair, to fist his hands into it while he drained her dry? Was it as soft as it looked? Could he get away with it while she was so distracted? Every instinct was urging him on. His fingers twitched at his sides and he almost leaned down for a sample.

_When we get out…_Well, it was going to be all you can eat Slayer on the menu.

If she kept on with her holier-than-thou attitude, which flared his hatred and twisted his gut, he might snap and go for her throat. Spike was starting to wonder how much longer he could hold out. _Nice sight while I'm here though, _he thought, watching her pulse beat and losing himself in the exquisite torture.

Malum's voice drifted through the caves, ruining Spike's good mood. "Indigo and Milo have anointed themselves and the Slayer not but an hour ago. They have prepared the sacred rite."

"They were worthy, huh, Malum?" a minion asked.

"They've served me well, and have been rewarded," Malum said, "and when I sink my fingers into the flesh of my Slayer to draw first blood, they will be the first to see…"

Spike clenched his jaw at their words, but remained still until he heard their footsteps fade away.

"I think they're gone," he whispered.

"Let's move," Buffy said.

* * *

Rocks stung the soles of Buffy's bare feet and she had to strain her eyes to see anything beyond the small circle of light that the torch cast. She was tense and tired and ready for attack at any moment.

"Do you actually know where you're going?" Buffy asked, walking briskly to keep up with Spike's self-assured stride.

He stopped and Buffy almost ran into his back. Spike lifted the torch to spread the light and nodded to where the caverns began leading upwards. The tunnel was split, and Spike picked the smaller of two wide passages. Buffy followed him uphill and, hopefully, toward the exit.

"Seems to me like I've got a pretty good idea, doesn't it, Goldilocks?" he said smugly, going ahead of her up the passage. "Inherent senses, and all that."

Buffy shot his leather-clad back a look of pure, unadulterated frustration.

She wondered how easy it would be to take that torch, snap it into sharpness, and stake him then and there. _I still need him to get out, _she reminded herself, _Maturity, Slayerness, being cool, calm, and collected remember? _

She still really wanted to stake him.

"Bollocks!"

Buffy's heart leapt in her chest and she hurried faster behind him.

"What happened? Why are you speaking British?" Buffy asked, rounding the smooth curve of the passage.

Spike stood fuming, maybe even a bit embarrassed, and Buffy felt a smug smile teasing her lips.

"A pretty good idea, huh? That's a dead end, inherent-guy," she said, putting a hand on her hip.

"It was your bloody plan, anyway," Spike said in a low voice, making sure to bump her shoulder as he walked past. Buffy turned on her heel and followed him closely.

"Excuse me? It was my plan to get us out of the cave. Catch onto any available goon-limb and make it go snap, remember?" Buffy said. "It was you who said you could get us back above ground."

Spike's mouth opened a fraction and he raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so this is my fault, then?"

"Yes, exactly. Are you catching up now, or do I need to slow things down for you?" Buffy said.

Spike scoffed. "So I'm getting a lesson in smarts from you? You're the bleeding bint who attacked an entire cave of vampires not a night ago!"

Buffy sucked in a furious breath and shook her head. "Right, yeah, that's me. Stupid Buffy, always doing the wrong thing. Do you have any idea of how sick I am of hearing it?"

"Wanna opt for a name change, love? Might help you get rid of that image," Spike said.

"Stellar advice. I'll keep that in mind, _William_," Buffy said.

He looked completely puzzled. His eyes searched her face as if he hoped she were joking. She'd made a chink in his armor. Buffy couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied.

"That's right. I know a lot about you," Buffy said, going for blithe. "Decades of stupid fashion choices, you killed two Slayers, and had some dead girlfriend from Prague, what was it…Grusella?"

It only took about half a second for Buffy to realize that she had just made a serious mistake.

Spike's face shifted with a snarl. He dropped the torch, and shoved her toward the cavern wall without mercy. The knife fell from her grip as she tried to escape him, but he was too close and caught her shoulders in a tight grip.

Buffy put her hands on his chest and pushed, but his fingers only tightened on her arms.

She turned her head to where the torch had fallen. Its light was dimming quickly. Spike caught her chin and held fast, forcing her to meet his demonic eyes.

"Let go of me," Buffy demanded in a dangerous whisper.

"Don't you say a _word _about Dru. Not one sodding thing, do you understand me?" Spike said, shaking her shoulders. She squirmed, but he pushed her back against the rock.

Buffy stared up at his face as coldly as she could. She was made of stone. Only her eyes reflected her hate for him.

When she spoke, it was between clenched teeth. "I don't take orders from murderers."

"And_ I _don't take orders from brat Slayers. I didn't ask to be stuck down here with you and your self-righteousness, you know. Just keep on pushing me, Slayer, and maybe I will bite you, truce or no truce," Spike growled.

"I'd like to see you try," she said, disgusted.

"Would you now?" he asked in a low voice. The hand that gripped her shoulder relaxed and skimmed down her bare arm with a feather-light touch, leaving shivers in its wake. Spike laid a hand where her neck met her shoulder, thumb brushing her pulse point. The tip of his tongue darted out to touch his fangs.

Spike chuckled at the seething look she gave him in response. "You wanna feel it, Slayer? Know what it's like when I—"

Buffy clamped a hand over his mouth. She forced him to turn and jerked his back against her, dragging him further from the mouth of the small cavern. She was a little surprised that he let her hold him like that. Tight, urgent, and completely under her power. Then he struggled, his voice muffled against her palm.

"Shh!" Buffy hissed in his ear, tightening her grip over his mouth and across his stomach. His struggles were jostling her injured abdomen, but she kept her hand steady where it covered his mouth. She didn't trust him not to talk.

He licked her palm.

"Oh, gross, Spike!" Buffy whispered harshly, but held on. He did it again. The feeling was electric and sent a jolt to places south that had no right to be jolty. Not with him. She stiffened and glared at him.

Spike craned his neck and looked at her with curious, yet angry, eyes, as if to ask, "What?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and whispered, "I heard something."

Spike shivered against her when her breath fluttered on his ear and Buffy loosened her grip a bit. It felt too weird. A real, guy-sized, guy-shaped body reacting to her. Well, a guy-shaped vampire reacting to her pulling him into a fighting hold, but still. Buffy pushed him to the side of her as if burned. Spike cursed and wiped his mouth, as if the physical contact disgusted him. That was reassuring. She relaxed.

There was definitely running going on somewhere outside their hideaway and Buffy's momentary relief was forgotten at the dull thump of boots on solid ground. The shouting in the distance was definitely of the urgent.

"They have to know we're gone," Buffy said, retrieving the knife from where she'd dropped it.

The torch on the ground had faded to a barely there flicker. It wavered once and snuffed out completely, leaving them shrouded in black.

"If those idiots all get to us at once, we're fish in a bloody barrel," Spike whispered. "The light's gone out and we can't see a thing."

"Picture me surprised."

"Shove off, Slayer."

Buffy backed further into the darkness as the sound of vampires running rang out near the cave mouth. They passed.

"Now would be a good time for a big heroic plan…" Spike said.

_I don't know what to do, _Buffy thought. Her legs trembled and there was a desperate lump in her throat. There was only one thing she could.

"Slayer…" Spike said, apprehension creeping into his voice.

Buffy followed the sound of his voice, holding one hand out like a blind man. Her fingers brushed cool leather, Spike's coat-covered back. Ever so slowly, Buffy slid her hand over to his shoulder and down his arm before finding his fingers and holding tight.

"This is so weird," she muttered, resisting the urge to pull back and wipe her hand on her jeans like a six-year old.

"Beyond weird, pet," Spike said. His fingers twitched reflexively in her grip and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

"I'm going to need you to lead. Creature of the Nighto-vision, even if it's barely there, is better than going blind. Can you see anything?" Buffy asked.

"Shadows, sort of. Blurry shapes," Spike said.

"That'll have to work," Buffy said.

She could almost picture him cocking his head.

"Why's that then?" he asked.

"Because we're going to run."

She could hear the smile in his voice, hungry for destruction, all young feral anarchy, coiled and ready to spring. "Fine by me. Ready when you are, Slayer."

Buffy felt a shudder go through her, her palm felt slick where she held tightly to his large, cool hand. She shrugged. "No time like the present."

Spike gave her fingers a tug and off they went.

Buffy picked up her pace to keep up with his. Their feet beat the dusty cave floor in a rough rhythm and hers ached from running on such solid rock without shoes. She pictured her battered feet leaving slick bloody footprints in her wake for the minions to track and swallowed convulsively.

If Buffy's sense of direction meant anything, they were turning out of the mouth of their cavern, back on the main track.

"Vamps up ahead," Spike said. "You ready for a fight?"

"How many?" she asked, trying to concentrate on her breathing and the knife in her hand.

"Maybe six."

It was as if a switch were flipped.

'Cause all of a sudden, Buffy felt pretty good.

As they drew closer to where Spike said the vamps would be, six lights went on at once, mounted on hard-hats. The brightness of it nearly blinded Buffy after such total darkness. She saw spots, but beyond them, she saw enemies. They stood in a line, arms crossed and fangs out, like the Vampire Village People.

"Oh my God. Could you guys be any dorkier?" Buffy said as she took in the image before them, making Spike snicker at her side.

"Yeah, I've gotta agree with the lady, here," Spike said.

"So you know it must be true," Buffy said.

One of the lackeys stepped forward, holding an air horn menacingly at his side. He grinned with a mouth full of fangs.

Buffy stopped walking. "You really don't want to do that."

The vampire held the air horn higher and Buffy's eyes widened.

Spike gestured to the knife she held and muttered, "You do the honors, pet."

Buffy smiled as three vamps dived for her, the other half heading Spike's way. Two swung for her at once. Buffy ducked and they missed each other by inches. The third, the one who held the air horn, she kicked in the ankles on her way to the cave floor, knocking his feet out from under him.

The other two came back menacingly, hands outstretched, looking more than confident.

"I hate to play Intimidation Queen, but believe me; you'll regret it if you try it," she said, putting on an innocent face.

She stood just as two of them made a simultaneous grab for her, and swung the knife. There were two dull thumps of their heads hitting the floor and then she was brushing the dust off her pants.

"I told them not to try it, but did they listen? No," Buffy said.

"Slayer!"

She threw Spike the knife without question and caught her last vamp in the stomach with a roundhouse. Behind her, she could hear Spike gloating and swinging the knife, carefree.

Her last vampire grabbed her shoulders from behind and lifted her high. She twisted and struggled, but he threw. Buffy landed hard, within feet of the air horn, and met the vamp's eyes. He ran, scrambling to get to it before she could, to alert the other minions and Malum.

Spike was there before she could blink. He punched her opponent hard in the small of his back, sending him falling with a yowl, and reached the noise maker before either of them, dropping it into his coat pocket. He turned to her vamp and kicked him hard in the side while he was down.

"How do _you_ like it? Hurts, doesn't it?" Spike snarled, never ceasing his kicks.

Buffy was back on her feet as Spike's last two vamps ran for him, determined to get the air horn from his pocket.

"Spike," she said, holding out her hand. He dusted the vamp on the ground and threw her the knife as if he'd been doing it for years. Buffy kicked too high and knocked the hard-hat off one vampire's head.

Spike stopped beside her, standing back to back so that they could each take one on. The light was getting dimmer and dimmer with each vamp they dusted. The dislodged hard-hat lay on the ground, the bulb light minuscule in the heavy darkness.

They were down to one. Spike hit it with two expert punches and threw the vampire Buffy's way for a quick dusting.

"What?" she asked when she caught sight of Spike's face. "Hey, look," she said, holding the hard-hat aloft, distracted. "Light."

She held it out to him expectantly. Spike took it and tossed it in his hands with a curious sort of grin.

"So it is," he said.

His eyes flickered from the hat to her face and back.

"Again, I'm asking, 'what'?" Buffy said, crossing her arms and making sure the knife looked as shiny as possible in the dimness. She was still worried he might try something funny.

Spike pursed his lips. He grinned again and set the hat on her head.

"Yuck. What if he had lice or something?" Buffy said, raising a hand to the hard-hat. She wrinkled her nose and widened her eyes. "Or undead lice?"

Spike shrugged. "God knows I'm not wearing that poncy thing."

Buffy glanced up to the hat, setting ugly and yellow on top of her head and back to Spike's face. "And I am?"

"Damn right, Slayer."

Buffy frowned, but was glad that they didn't have to get all hand-holdy, thanks to the light.

"Well there's one good thing about this thing," she said, and began walking briskly through the cavern, following its steady incline.

"What's that, then?"

"I get to lead the way."

* * *

_Bossy little bitch, _Spike thought.

Still, she wasn't too intimidating with that hat perched on her head. He'd be buggered if he admitted it, but she looked bleeding adorable in the ridiculous headgear. Not at all scary.

Spike had to hand it to her; the girl knew what she was doing. It was a rare thing to see her take charge like this, to watch it from her side. Falling into step behind her made him feel like her dog, but at the same time, Spike couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch her slay.

Fighting her was one thing, but fighting _with _her, that had been better than perfect.

It had been a bloody revelation.

They were good together. More than good. She could predict his moves just as well as he could hers. Instead of their usual stalemate when it was the two of them to the death, they'd won and won by a big margin.

The air was less moist and cool the further they went, it had a nice warmth to it. The feel of early evening. The stars must just be coming out.

"We're getting close," Spike said from behind her. His mind was unfurling something daft, daft and impossible and—_maybe bug shagging crazy enough to work. _"Hey, Slayer—"

Buffy broke into a jog.

Spike rolled his eyes and hissed through his teeth before following.

Then he saw what had caught her attention. A small sliver of light was up ahead in the thickness of a rock wall. The hole in Malum's lair.

"Hurry up," Buffy said over her shoulder. "Those losers could pop up at any moment like…evil pop tarts."

Spike ran to catch up with her and walk at her side.

"Gotta say, I'm a bit more concerned about the man behind the metaphorical toaster," Spike said.

Buffy ignored him and kept on.

"Speaking of…wonder where they all went?" Spike said, glancing around.

The thud of a dozen or more pairs of boots hitting dry dirt rang out in the cavern. Lights flickered on all around them as Malum's minions dropped down from where they'd clung to stalagmites, like great mullet-toting spiders, and landed heavily on the cave floor.

Buffy's mouth dropped open a fraction. She snapped it shut and turned to Spike with an accusatory glance. "You just _had _to say that, didn't you?"

"You got a plan, Slayer?" Spike said. She was backing away slowly, heading for the light. He surveyed the other vampires with a cocky grin and spoke loudly, "You and me, we can take 'em."

"No way, not this many," Buffy whispered, still moving cautiously.

The vampires just watched hungrily. Some held axes or shovels, as if they'd been deepening the tunnels around them, and all looked ravenous.

"Slayer," a voice rang out through the cave. Malum pushed through the crowd of vampires until he stood in front, fangs gleaming and face proud. "You've made a valiant effort to escape. I almost regret that the Night is so imminent. I would have liked to see more from you."

"I have a prior engagement," Buffy said, a sneering lilt to her voice. "It's called 'having a life', ever heard of it?"

Malum chuckled. "Brave to the last."

"Not gonna be the last, mate," Spike said, inching backwards towards the light as the Slayer was, ever vigilant of the crowd.

"And Mr. Spike," Malum said, "the great traitor."

"Me? I'm the traitor?" Spike said. "You can't even keep up your end of a bargain. You're nothing but a sad, old, washed up vamp who can't even take on a Slayer without trussing her up. You're pathetic."

Malum balked and lunged to attack. Spike ducked a punch and slammed his fist into Malum's midsection.

When their leader doubled over, the other vamps shouted in outrage and moved to attack.

"Stop," Malum commanded, rising slowly. "He's mine to kill."

The minions stopped and settled, looking on with eager eyes.

Malum paced, raising his clawed hands and studying the talons. "So, Mr. Spike, we can finish this, you and I in a fight to—"

Malum jerked forward from the force of a hard, slamming punch to the back of his head and whipped back to see who'd hit him. A hard-hat light flickered on.

"Sorry, but, no maiming my ticket out," Buffy said, punching his nose.

Malum swung a leg for her, a graceful and well-timed move, but Buffy was fluidity. She avoided it easily, grabbed Spike by the lapel of his coat, and broke into a run, dragging him along with her.

The sound of footsteps thundered behind them. Spike felt hands brush his back, grab for his arms. He got in punches and kicks where he could and kept on.

"Down!" Buffy commanded as they approached the entrance to the underground room.

She released his coat and dived, sliding easily through the small opening in the cave wall. Spike followed, little pieces of gravel making tiny tears in the fabric of his shirt as he slid on his stomach.

There was an almighty slam. Dirt rained down from the ceiling above and the wooden framing of the room shook. Spike looked back to see limbs flailing and fangs snapping as they tried to untangle themselves. The buggers had all tried to go through at once.

Buffy scrambled to her feet and ran. Spike got up the instant he could and followed her to the stairs.

Up and up that winding passage they ran, past the candles and into blackness, until Spike was reminding himself that he couldn't be out of breath because he didn't need to breathe. When he met the cool clear air outside, it was like breaching the surface of very deep water, and Spike couldn't help but gasp in the fresh air.

The Slayer still ran.

"Buffy!" he called, jogging behind her. "Wait up!"

His feet crunched glass and metal as he chased her through splashes of moonlight dotting the unfinished building's floor and out into the construction yard. Buffy never looked back.

She made a beeline for a broken down car in the midst of the abandoned equipment, opened the unlocked drivers' side door, and got in before reaching across the dash and frantically feeling around for the keys in the glove box.

Spike wrenched open the passenger's side. Just as he sat, a fist hit his jaw. He caught her hand before she could punch him again and chuckled. "Hey, easy there, Slayer! Got enough bumps and bruises as it is."

Buffy jerked her fist free of his grip and held it up in threat. "Get out of this car."

He ignored her. "Why'd you hop in here anyway? Don't have the keys to this lemon."

"I saw them driving this before and the keys were in the car. I just know it," Buffy said, still searching frantically, checking the floor beneath her seat.

"Move."

"No," Buffy said.

"Unless you're in a hurry to be dragged back underground, kicking and screaming, move," Spike said, more insistently.

She glanced to the abandoned building and back to him.

Buffy climbed into the trash-filled backseat and let him take over. Spike dropped down into the driver's seat and took the wheel. He felt beneath the steering column. It was just as he thought; no panels. The minions had it all ready to go.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, leaning over his shoulder. "We need keys, not their old gum."

"Give us a second," Spike said. He found the two wires with the exposed tips and pressed them together.

The car rumbled to life.

"How did you do that?"

"Hotwiring, love," Spike said, revving the engine.

"Oh."

Buffy climbed past him into the passenger's seat, every movement screaming apprehension. In the distance, Spike could already hear footfalls and the faintest sounds of shouts.

"Buckle up, sweetheart."

Spike put it in reverse and slammed on the gas. The Slayer gripped her armrests tightly as he shifted gears, and off they sped into the night.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just fair warning, there is a chance that my next update may be a bit later than usual due to some RL stuff. I'll try to keep with my normal posting schedule, but if I don't, this is just fair warning that it may come a couple of days late.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **I'm back with an update! I'm going to be pretty busy until mid-October, but my updates should remain regular as long as I find time to send chapters off to my beta (fingers crossed!). Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, or made a favorite. I also want to give a shout out to All4Spike for the fantastic beta work.

This chapter contains some dialogue adapted from _School Hard_ written by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt.

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 18

Spike's foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor in a ceaseless assault until they were at least a thirty minute walk from Ohio City. The old lemon persevered as best it could, but made all sorts of whirrs and creaks as he drove on.

He growled as the engine sputtered in protest as he kept up his unmerciful speed. "Come on you piece of—"

Spike slammed his hand on the dashboard. The car backfired with a bang, but he kept his foot down and the car shot forward, the tires screeching on the asphalt.

"Who taught you how to drive? Evel Knievel?" Buffy said from her perch in the passenger's seat, gritting her teeth and gripping the armrests. He'd never seen her twitchier.

It was getting later in the evening, so he kept away from downtown. Too much traffic. This way he could speed through red lights and down residential streets, focused entirely on putting as much distance between them and Malum's lackeys as physically possible.

The Slayer remained alert, seated as far away from him as she could possibly be, knees curled beneath her as if she were ready to spring. He threw glances at her from the corner of his eyes, but hers were locked on him. Narrow, furious eyes the color of sunshine glinting on peridot. For a moment, he almost thought that they'd flashed gold.

The escape had been easy compared to this waiting.

Spike could almost hear a bloody clock ticking for every moment they put off the attack, the inevitable show down that was sure to come. He thought he might die from the anticipation. Bloody hell was he feeling impatient. _Maybe I could just grab her now, strangle her as I drive past—_

"Look out!" Buffy shouted. She leaned over and grabbed the wheel as he sped toward oncoming traffic.

Spike tried to elbow her back to keep from swerving, but she held tight. He slammed on the brakes and they skidded to a stop at the red light, at a slight angle from her meddling. They jerked forward from the momentum.

Buffy still gripped the wheel, her feverish skin brushing his cool hand. Her wide eyes met his and something clicked before she turned, reached for the handle, and threw open the door. She hit the ground running, off into a darkened neighborhood, darting through the dappled light of streetlamps and bounding away like a frightened rabbit.

"Bollocks!" Spike yelled, honking the horn in frustration.

He killed the engine and leapt out to follow her, slamming the door with a metallic crash, shattering the glass. The car behind him honked, long, loud, and angry.

Spike turned, unaffected, but there was a tick in his jaw.

"Hey, Billy Idol, I get you're having a lovers' quarrel, but green means go!" the kid driving yelled out his window, honking again with a wide grin on his pock-marked face. "Come on, move it!"

Spike breathed deeply through his nose and walked behind his car to the other driver's. He slammed his hands down on the hood, vamping out as he did so with a growl, the force of his hit leaving deep dents. The teen inside screamed and honked his horn. Spike chuckled, gave the car one last angry pat, and turned to run after the Slayer.

Spike watched as she darted across the overgrown lawn of an apartment complex just up ahead, gaining on her with every step. She hadn't gained too much ground, fatigued and bruised as she seemed to be. Spike smiled in triumph. He was right on her heels and just a hint faster. He reached out, his fingers brushing her shoulder, fully prepared to bring her down.

She anticipated it and spun. With a hard smack, her foot met his jaw and Spike found himself skidding across slick grass and then asphalt, rolling out into the empty street, the Slayer coming his way.

"Oh my _God _is it about time," she said as he stood. "How long were you going to pull that crap? With the driving and the…not stopping? I was going crazy in there."

Buffy was waiting for him with her eyes sparkling and her fists held high. He had never seen a more mouth-watering sight.

"Had to stop sometime. Would've liked to have dragged it out a bit, if I'm being honest. Should've seen yourself, Slayer, sitting and waiting for the attack like a twitchy little fox. That was funny as hell."

She punched him hard in his much-abused jaw. Spike caught her wrist and twisted, moving with her until there was no chance for either one of them to come out on top and they had to break free. She kicked high, just as he did. Their legs collided and they both tried to shove. The combined force was too much and they both fell back. He tumbled into the street with a groan and Buffy hit a low garden fence beside a first-floor apartment, toppling the little wooden border posts and squashing some gardenias.

Spike stood first, grinning wickedly at where she lay, holding her ribs and looking agonized, her lips parted and her brows drawn.

"Knew it was only a matter of time before I got you down and out, love," he said, stalking closer. "You could just stay where you are, all comfy on the grassy ground. As a promise, from me to you, I'll be quick about it. It won't hurt a bit."

Buffy stood anyway, in obvious pain, but with resolved confidence.

"I think it's gonna hurt a lot." She kicked the gate expertly, launching one of the small wooden posts up into her hand. A garden stake. It would be a blunt and messy entry, but would get the job done sure enough.

Spike bristled at the sight of it.

"And he's silent," Buffy said, looking from the stake to him with a knowing grin. "If only I'd known this was the trick earlier."

Spike circled her carefully as she matched his movements. "Gotta tell you, love, I didn't see that one coming."

"I'm pretty full of surprises."

"Yeah," he said, thoroughly impressed with her, and surprised at himself for it, "you are."

It was almost a shame to kill her.

Buffy tossed her hair back, stake poised and ready, welcoming an attack.

His mind had been mulling it over since the cavern, wondering if maybe—

_No, _he thought.

Instinct overcame all uncertainty and hesitation. Spike ran for the Slayer, and they fell into their usual pattern of punch, kick, and throw in a dizzying dance, but his thoughts strayed as they exchanged blows. He couldn't lie, it got his blood boiling, no, singing like he was euphoric, walking on bloody sunshine. But it was still there, that thought, that inkling of—

_No, _he thought again, more insistently.

He attacked more viciously, sloppily, knocking her off her feet and back onto the grass, trying to land a kick to her injury, but instead, she got a kick to him.

Spike grunted as her bare foot collided with his stomach, launching him off her and back into the grass, leaving him groaning. She was there faster than he could have envisioned. Buffy had one impossibly strong hand at his throat, holding him down and making him choke in discomfort. She straddled his hips and locked them between her knees, strength unbreakable.

"Sorry, you lose," she said, stake held high. "I win."

Spike clenched his jaw when she sat back and bore her weight down on his hips. He could only enjoy the heat and pressure of her for a moment, leaving him hard and wanting, before she raised her weapon.

Buffy paused.

"Thanks, I guess," she said. There was a flicker of something conflicted behind her eyes and a frown on her lips. The hand at his throat relaxed slightly. "For helping. I probably would've been stuck there without that so…thanks."

"Same to you. We did good together, didn't we?" Spike said, watching a moment's hesitation play out behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, we did."

The resolve returned and she raised the stake to strike.

"Wait!"

Buffy shook her head. "Sorry, no waiting."

She brought it down in one swift stroke.

"Malum!"

Buffy stopped before the impact, the tip of the stake teasing the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart. She frowned and leaned forward to press the stake harder against his flesh. Her loose hair fell around his face in waves, drowning him in the scents of sunshine, soap, and sweat. Strands of gold tickled his cheeks and ears. Bugger she was close, he could see the flecks of grey, green, and gold in her eyes, the soft sheen of exertion on her skin. He could count every eyelash. Spike swallowed heavily, taking in her sweet aroma with deep breaths.

Strange and sick as it was, he liked this. Liked the gentle weight of her pressing him into soft, freshly-mown grass dotted with dew, and the strength in her arms where she pinned him. He could almost forget that oblivion was so imminent.

Buffy kept the stake where it was, but looked at least a bit intrigued by his outburst.

_Almost. _

Her tone threatened when she spoke. "What about Malum?"

"Still wants to kill us both."

"You could always tell me something I don't know, you know. Mix things up. A fun fact of the day, maybe?" she countered, pressing the stake with menacing insistence.

"Well, he's got it out for you and for me," Spike said, talking fast in case she went for the kill again. "Wants us both dead. And, no offense, love, but right now, I'm clamoring a bit more for his dust than your lifeless little body."

_Maybe I'm lying, _he thought, but he wasn't really sure. Not with her holding him down and stirring up such inner bloody conflict.

Buffy frowned, as if she couldn't tell if he were giving her a compliment or an insult.

"What's the point here, Spike?" she asked.

"I'm just saying that…" He sucked in his cheeks. _Now or never_. "I'm saying that maybe we should…do it together."

Sod all, he'd said it.

_Actually bloody said it just to save my own skin. _

Something inside him recoiled in disgust at his own words. Spike felt an odd mix of revulsion and sureness, warring inside. He felt weak and poncy for suggesting it, but also a bit fearless. To be the vampire that fought beside the Slayer, the deadliest girl in the world, taking down annoying antiquated has-beens together, then having a proper fight to the death after, and finally tasting her blood. Didn't sound like too bad an idea.

_Might not be, now that I think of it. _

"Dust Malum…together?" she restated, raising her eyebrows. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. "How hard did I kick you in the head?"

"Listen, Slayer—"

"No. No listening. Are you completely insane?" she said, looking skyward and back to him, her expression of loathing making him burn. "Like certifiably, clinically insane?"

"Without me, you're just sitting around, waiting to get captured again and held in a bloody pen like a pig for slaughter," Spike said. "Wouldn't you rather have somebody who's been on his side and seen the way he works to bring the bastard down?"

"Technically, you're still on his side," Buffy said, but released her light grip on his throat.

Spike propped himself up on his elbows so that their faces were close. She squirmed and rose up on her knees, as if she were just registering how very near he was now that they were on equal ground. "No, I'm on _my_ side, Slayer. 'I've got no such solidarity with that poofter. Not anymore. Now let me up so we can have a serious conversation, yeah?"

Buffy stood, hesitated a moment, and then held out her hand.

Spike grasped it and felt her pull. Cripes, she was strong.

"Come on then," he said. "Best hope the car hasn't been towed unless you're up for one hell of a walk."

* * *

Buffy was silent as Spike swerved past a liquor store and a small cluster of apartment buildings on the edge of town. Thankfully the car had still been there, although with smoke curling up from under the hood and skid marks dotting the road behind it. Still, after just a few minutes with the hood up, he'd somehow gotten it working again.

She couldn't believe that she'd agreed to hear him out about this.

_Bad vampire, evil vampire, lying liar guy, remember? _she reminded herself, watching Spike carefully as he drove. She chided herself furiously, _why did you say you would listen to him? _

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. _What the hell am I doing? _

"If this is some elaborate plot, I'm so gonna to kill you," Buffy said. She stopped and considered. "No, worse than kill you. I'm going to do the most unspeakable Slayerly things to you that other vampires will talk about it around campfires someday. They'll say, 'ooh, remember what Buffy did to Spike, that really horrible…thing? Hope she doesn't do it to me someday'. That's what will happen if you try any tricks. Do you understand?"

Spike didn't answer. He just pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one with a Zippo, taking a deep drag and blowing smoke out the open window with a low moan of relief.

"Thought I was gonna dust if I didn't get one of these soon," Spike said, flicking away some ash and bringing it back to his lips, looking positively blissful with every inhale.

"Where are you taking me?"

Spike snorted. "Oh, don't go all victim-like on me Slayer. Truce in full effect here. I'm not going to hurt you."

Still, she nodded, tense, but feeling patient enough to listen.

"Fine," she said, "we'll keep this all…ceasefired. For now. That still doesn't answer my question. Where are we going?"

Spike stubbed the already stumpy cigarette out on the dashboard and flicked the butt of it out onto the street. "Need to get back to my temporary living space, grab my stuff, and clear out of there before our fluffy little friends have a chance to follow."

"And we couldn't have parted very hostile ways first?" Buffy asked, suspicious. "I have a sudden desire to be at home, in bed, and worrying about you tomorrow."

She was telling the truth, even if it was something that she couldn't do.

"See that would ruin the 'before they can follow' idea," Spike said. He furrowed his brow. "Thought you hated it there anyway. Got some prim and proper bitch telling you what to do? Put that way, I'm doing you a favor."

Buffy rolled her eyes and flopped back in her seat, still wary of him. "Just drive."

They were out at the edge of the suburbs, driving past some dilapidated Gothic Revival homes and a very small abandoned cemetery with a ruined gate. Spike drove past another line of shops and pulled up beside a rundown motel, the one that vamps and demons just loved to room in.

_Big surprise there, _Buffy thought, _except for the part where it totally isn't. _

He parked and fiddled with some wires beneath the wheel, killing the engine.

"Here we are," he said. "Sorry I don't have a welcome mat."

"Let's just get this over with," she said.

Buffy followed him out of the car and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. When they reached one of the numbered doors, Spike paused and felt around his coat pockets, a small wrinkle between his brows.

"What?" Buffy asked.

Spike frowned, still patting himself down. "Lost my key in the scuffle, or maybe they just nicked it while I was out of the game."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, so does this mean that our little side adventure's over yet, or—?"

Spike slammed his fist through door's painted wood and reached inside for the handle.

"Great. Theft and now destruction of property. What's next, arson?" Buffy said, her voice saturated with sarcastic pep.

"Your idea to steal the car, pet."

"Okay, true, but…"

Spike let himself in, flicked on a light. "Make yourself at home, Slayer."

He headed for an unzipped black duffel bag on the floor near the bathroom.

Buffy stood awkwardly, taking in the sight of the motel room, but not quite willing to enter.

"You can come inside, you know," he called from where he was rummaging around in the motel medicine cabinet. He stopped, his lips curving into a thoughtful smirk. "It's funny, you waiting for an invite."

"I'm not," Buffy said defensively, but walked inside anyway, effectively proving him right. It irked her deeply and she wished that she could beat him up with angry glares alone. Her feet sank into thick carpet and she wrinkled her nose.

It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and looked like the most clash-worthy of autumn colors had thrown up on all the furniture in a swirl of various yellow shades. A discarded pair of faded black jeans lay at the side of the bed and empty beer bottles lined the top of the small television. Buffy watched as Spike packed hurriedly, shoving things like hair gel and black nail polish into the bag.

Things which were far too human for her to be able to stomach.

He began collecting some discarded clothes from where they were strewn on the floor.

Buffy walked past him without comment, making a beeline for the bathroom. Spike ignored her, but she still clicked the lock in place and found the light-switch

"Yikes," she whispered when she saw her reflection in the mirror. _Dark circle alert, _she thought, reaching up to touch the puffiness. Dirt smeared her skin and there was a rip in her shirt from when she'd slid on her stomach.

Buffy frowned and lifted her shirt up, hissing with pain as she did so. Her ribs were sickly yellow with bruising, but had already begun to heal.

_Should still get them looked at or something, _she thought, gingerly running a finger along her ribcage.

She took her time to pee and wash her hands, pretending that Spike wasn't outside, making noise and shuffling around. When she was finished, she stood awkwardly in the doorway, just watching him as he finished up packing.

"And she's back," Spike said, smirking.

Buffy ignored him and took the time to examine the room with a careful eye as she wandered through it, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon in case he changed his mind about this talking thing. _Which, let's be honest, he probably will_. There was a hole in the wall near the bed, as if Spike had slammed his fist through it, and the carpet beneath the ruined stucco still had the imprints of some furniture that had once stood by. Buffy glanced to the room's other side. Maybe she could snap a leg off that cheap looking table holding the TV? She'd left her garden stake behind when they'd walked back to the car.

"I'm thinking of going incognito 'til we can figure out how to dust that wanker," Spike said, trying to zip the duffel bag over the sleeve of a black button down. "Lay low, plan some bloody plans, you know?"

Buffy sat down on the edge of the mattress and clasped her hands in her lap. "Yes, because that's _completely_ your style."

Spike hefted the duffel over his shoulder. His coat swirled around his legs as he walked. "Yeah, you got me there. Still, it's the principle of the thing."

Buffy tensed as he came closer, her instincts standing at full attention and ready to spring, but he passed her by.

"You have principles?" she said, distracted by shaking off the residual feelings of primal impulse.

He smirked at the quaver in her voice. "Not all I got, pet. 'm a bleeding paragon of immorality."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"You know that I haven't agreed to anything yet," she reminded him. "You get one chance to explain fully. One. If you fail that, things get dusty."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Thanks for the reminder. Didn't really register your sodding non-commitment the six times you said it in the car."

Buffy shrugged. "We could just skip to the dusty bits."

"Rather not."

"Then get on with it," she said. Spike stayed quiet. Buffy stared him down. "Splainy."

"Not now. Already wasted enough time as it is. We should go," he said, more serious than usual and in a way that definitely didn't reduce her code-red worry levels. "Look, I'll get talking once we get somewhere that's not such a bright red target for the mullet squad."

Buffy had almost forgotten about them. "Okay. Point made. That's probably best."

"Right then," Spike said with a sniff, "let's get at it."

Buffy stood slowly, eyes narrowed. Her hands formed tight fists.

"Now, now. Down, Slayer," he said with an evil grin that left her wanting to slug him hard enough to crack a perfect cheekbone. "I know what you're thinking, and I didn't mean anything of the sort."

"What else could you possibly have meant?" Buffy asked. Okay, maybe she was pushing it, but she _wanted_ him to fight. At least fighting wasn't so baffling.

He was giving her that look again; tongue curling, head tilted, and the barest hints of a lascivious grin in the corners of his lips, just as he had in the cavern. Only this time it was worse, even more irritating and dizzying and angering, because he spoke with a human face. The growl of his voice was dark and sweet and deep, just dripping promises. "Use your imagination."

"You're disgusting," she spat back as if programmed to.

Spike chuckled. "Never told you to put your mind in the gutter, Slayer."

"My mind is not…gutterbound," Buffy countered furiously.

"If you say so, Slayer," he said, but there was still laughter in his eyes.

Spike headed for the door and gave her a wave to follow over his shoulder.

Buffy stayed inside, confusion and anger storming inside of her.

"You coming?" Spike called.

Buffy stood and followed cautiously, wondering again what the hell was wrong with her for not staking him when she'd had the chance.

* * *

The outside of Spike's car was kind of nice—a bit weatherworn, like it had seen battle—but shiny and classic, the kind her dad had liked to look at and hang posters of in their garage. The inside, however, was a complete mess. Wadded up fast food bags, empty brown beer bottles, and half-full glass containers with amber liquid swishing inside.

_That's Spike though, _Buffy thought, _a honey on the outside, evil and horrible on the in. There's probably garbage where his soul's supposed to be._

Buffy had caught sight of some weirder items when he stored his bag in the trunk. Items that were decidedly un-Spike-like. Two porcelain dolls with cloths tied around their eyes and mouths were nestled among some yellowed newspaper. A woman's ornate hand mirror with the glass cracked lay beside a matching brush that a few long dark hairs clung to, and the long sheer sleeve of a red dress hung out of a storage bag. Spike had slammed the trunk shut when he saw where her eyes were drawn.

_It was hers, _she had realized, but didn't say out loud. The Prague girl who he had been so angry over in the cave. No, not angry…griefy. She'd seen it in his furious, yellow eyes.

_Griefy vampire, _Buffy thought, trying to reconcile the two in her mind. It didn't work.

"You still hungry, Slayer?" he asked.

Buffy considered for a moment, feeling a bit of unwanted pity mixed in with her reluctant interest in whatever the hell that team-up proposal had been.

"Starved," she said.

* * *

Buffy had never been in a situation more surreal. She stood before the vacant hostess station at a run down, twenty-four hour diner, wearing a pair of Spike's boots. The tops were worn and torn away from the soles, and her bare toes were exposed with every step.

"They're gonna be big, but this place won't let you in without 'em," Spike had said, gesturing to a 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' sign hanging in one wide window.

Buffy had pulled them on anyway and got out, walking awkwardly in his oversized boots, trailing him to the front door.

And now, here she stood. Dirty and hungry and exhausted, waiting for a table beside a chain-smoking vampire at a dive to discuss something that she could barely begin to think about.

The walls inside were grey and the windows were wide. A big red clock shaped like a guitar ticked away on the wall over the bar, and a fuzzy Buddy Holly song played from a dusty looking jukebox in the non-smoking section. The whole place smelled like grease and salt and coffee. Buffy breathed it in deeply, tantalizing her aching stomach and making it rumble.

An older woman in purple framed glasses stopped talking with a grizzly looking customer and sauntered over from the bar when she finally saw them, fiddling with her polka dot apron.

"How many?" she asked nasally, pulling some menus.

"Two in the smoking section," Spike said.

"All righty, hon, follow me."

Spike gestured for Buffy to follow the woman first, but she just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I watch you, not the other way around," Buffy instructed.

Spike growled, but obeyed, following the woman to a corner booth upholstered in matte red fabric. She sat large shiny menus before them advertising specials in colorful word bubbles on the front and displaying pictures of deep-fried goodness.

Spike dropped down heavily after Buffy did, glaring at her where she sat opposite him.

"Can I start you out with some drinks? Coke, tea, coffee?" she asked, never looking up from her notepad.

"Diet coke, please," Buffy said. _So, so surreal, _she thought again. Everything felt too detailed, too real for this situation. A smear of some kind of cleaning product was drying on the table near the salt shaker, so she wiped it away with a napkin as Spike ordered some coffee.

The woman walked off, leaving them alone in the smoking section.

"All right, we're here so you can talk, so talk," Buffy said, leaning over the table. "What brought on this weirdo idea of yours and why shouldn't I dust you?"

Spike smirked and opened his menu, eyes darting over the page. "Give a bloke a chance to look the menu over, Slayer?" He glanced up at her over the laminated yellow paper and raised an eyebrow. "How do you feel about onion rings?"

"Spike," Buffy said, unwilling to let him make light of this. "Talk."

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, bringing a cigarette to his lips. He toyed with his Zippo, flicking the flame on and off before lighting up, but continued to watch the fire flicker. Buffy watched him through cautious eyes. _Weird vampire, _she thought, _messing with fire._

Spike exhaled smoke through his nose and snapped the lighter shut. "You hate this buggering son of a bitch, don't you?"

"If you're speaking of Malum…obviously," Buffy answered.

Spike leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "Yeah, and so do I. Look, without me, you're treading water, waiting for some evil thing to pull you down."

Buffy shook her head ever so slightly in denial.

"Why won't you admit I have a point here, Slayer?" Spike asked.

"Because yours is a point that's less."

"Uh-huh, well, pointless, I may be, but this damn well isn't," Spike said, "and you know it."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. "What's in it for you?"

"Having somebody to watch my back," he said as if it were obvious. "As long as those wankers are prancing around like they own this city, that sounds like a bloody good idea to me. And out of all possible contenders, as bleeding stupid as this sounds, I'd rather have you doing it than anyone else. After all that went down in that cave, you seriously didn't think of this?"

Buffy started. She hadn't considered.

"You remember," he said, cocking his head as she realized what he was alluding to, "don't you?"

Spike at her back, throwing her the knife, bringing down vampires that would have been the end of them both as they dusted the last one together, moving perfectly in sync.

_We were good, _she realized with a strange jolt. _Like, wickedly good. _

"Yeah, Slayer. I know you're thinking of it," Spike said smugly. "Thinking of how bloody brilliant we are together."

"So what if I am? What does it change?" Buffy asked. Inwardly, she was hoping beyond hope that he would stumble; run out of those words he always seemed to have ready, and prove that this could never work, because it was all starting to make sense.

_And if this makes sense…_Buffy didn't want to consider the implications.

"You must know it's gotta change something, otherwise, what are you doing here with me right now?" he asked. "Wouldn't have come with me if you didn't think that I was just a little bit right. And you do, don't you?"

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it. She couldn't stand that knowing look in his eyes.

"How do you know that I won't just stake you?" she said when she found her voice.

Spike smirked. "I don't, do I? Maybe that's half the fun of it. But let me tell you something, Slayer." He leaned further over the table, eyes a deadly dark blue that glinted mischievously under the bright fluorescents. "I know you."

Buffy shivered, but didn't break away from his gaze.

"I know the ditzy little girl in there, I've met her, and the part of you that's never angrier than when you're scared," he said, sending her fuming, "Oh yeah, I know that part too. Slayer-part that can never hate me enough. May not know you well, but yeah, I get the picture and it's so sodding clear. Do you know why I'm here right now, in this health inspector's nightmare?"

Buffy shook her head slightly, but refused to satisfy him with even the most hypothetical of answers.

"Because you need me to be."

She felt ice trickle down her spine at his words. Her heart felt as if it had stopped for a moment and started back up with frantic beats.

The waitress approached with their drinks on a small tray before Buffy could speak.

"Diet coke, and coffee for you, sweetie," she said and pulled out a small notepad and pen. "So, have we decided?"

Buffy felt numb as she rattled off her order, a hamburger and undressed salad, as if in a daze, staring at Spike all the while and trying to wrap her mind around what had just occurred.

_Because I need him to be…_

Yikes, that was a wiggy thought.

But maybe…Maybe her Slayerness was trying to tell her something.

_Cause eerie like that doesn't happen every day._

The waitress departed, leaving them alone once more. The lights were too bright, the stupid guitar-clock thingy was ticking too loud, and Spike was too close, leaning over the table and waiting to hear what she had to say.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: **First off, I want to apologize for the delay between updates. My beta and I both had very busy weeks and, between school and the flu, I didn't find too much time for my fanfiction. I also want to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, as well as to those of you who followed or made a favorite. An extra special thanks to those of you who have reviewed each chapter so far. All comments so far have been a joy to read :)

Betaed by All4Spike

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 19

Spike didn't know how much longer he could take this.

The sodding clock was too damn loud, ticking and tocking like there wasn't a customer who was waiting to hear important information from the Slayer. He was going to rip it off the wall and use it to bash in Buffy's blonde little head if she didn't give him some kind of idea of what he'd be facing when they left this place.

Right now, she was unreadable. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and her brow was furrowed. She'd looked a bit shell-shocked since he'd finished his speech, peaked and wide-eyed. Time certainly wasn't easing her up. It left Spike feeling uneasy. He was sure she'd find a way to stake him then and there. His hands balled up into fists beneath the table. Well, at least he was ready. _Not outsmarting me, Goldilocks. No. This time, I'm gonna—_

"Okay," she whispered to her lap.

Spike blinked and relaxed reflexively. "Okay—?"

"I'll do it," Buffy said in that same quiet voice. She met his eyes. "We'll do it. We'll take him down."

Spike lost his voice. His mouth dropped open a fraction and he stared at her hard. Even though it had been his idea, he hadn't expected her to agree.

"All right, then," he murmured back. There was a beat.

Spike couldn't stop staring at her.

"I still hate you," Buffy reminded him, holding his gaze the whole time.

She wasn't lying. He could tell.

"Feeling's mutual, Slayer," he said. He knew she needed to hear it.

"Good," Buffy said, quiet and clipped, "as long as we understand each other."

Spike nodded and sat silently, unsure of how to continue. He just lit another fag and took a deep drag off it. He hadn't planned this far ahead anyway.

Buffy picked up her burger, taking small bites as he stared on, her eyes cast to her knees.

"Thought you were starving, Slayer," he said, but he could see the careful way she ate, nibbling away at her food as if wolfing it down might offend someone.

Buffy looked at him in irritation and he could see the still-swirling confusion there. "Sorta-kinda, yeah."

"Really drizzling on the sarcasm, I see."

"Spike, shut up or I'll shut you up," she said and went back to her food, all dainty little bites.

He sat back in his seat, realizing that he wasn't quite sure how to talk to this girl. Oh, he knew how to tick her off, push her buttons in just the right way, leaving her violent and righteously slay-ready. That was easy. This was not. And the former wouldn't be much in his favor.

"You know, silence isn't that encouraging, love," he said, picking up his last onion ring. "Might make a fella think you're gonna stake him when you're done nibbling away."

"We already talked about this, but I'm not going to say it again. If I do, I might change my mind and that would be…"

Spike raised an eyebrow, earning him a glare.

"That would be even more…confusing. So drop it," Buffy said.

"Just, you aren't usually this quiet," Spike commented, eyes lingering on the delicate skin of her wrists and throat as he flicked some ash from the end of his cigarette. Such pretty little blue veins under golden flesh.

"You mean, as of late?"

Spike nodded, glad she was willing to say _something_. "Yeah, you've gone all silent film without the convenient bloody subtitles. Fighting to the death, you can't get in enough to say."

"Don't I know it," Buffy muttered.

"Why's that?" Spike cocked his head, as if it would help him to see what she was thinking.

She stopped as if she'd caught herself doing something forbidden. "No reason."

"Ah, no. You don't get off that easily, Slayer," he said. "Come on. Talk."

"Not happening," she said, but something teased the corners of her mouth that wasn't bitter anger, something closer to begrudging acceptance. He would take what he could get.

Spike raised an eyebrow and dared to grin. "You talk, or I will. And we both know how much you love to hear that."

"Fine, Mr. Persistent," she said, starting to get irritated. Spike tried to look earnest and watched as she looked to the ceiling and then back to his face. She sighed. "It's just, well, it's a sort of a school related—" Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, no. School. I haven't been to school."

"Look at the little rebel," he said, actually grinning. This was getting interesting.

Buffy groaned, holding her face in her hands. "My principal's going to kill me. Maybe literally. He could totally be evil. I mean, _statistically _speaking in this place—"

"It's just one day you missed, Slayer."

"Yeah, but it's like a week in Principal Williams' time. With the punctuality and up-tightness…" she said. Her eyes went huge. "Do they still have dunce caps? I'm going to get a dunce cap. I'll be Duncy Buffy, oh my _God_…"

This time she held her head in her hands, huge eyes cast to the floor in panic. Spike suppressed a laugh, but watched in interest as he tried not to smile, lest she saw him. That would just kill the moment. Bloody hell, she was fascinating. Never more than when she was like this.

"So, this principal, a bit tightly wound, is he?"

Buffy sat back up and shook her head.

"You've got that right. He's majorly wound like a…windy, wound-up…thing."

Spike grinned. He couldn't help it. "Your eloquence charms us all."

"Shut up. You know what I mean," she said with the smallest of smiles, stirring the straw in her diet coke before taking a sip.

"Want me to take him out?" he said before he could stop himself. "Could do it with pencils, if you like. Puncture him all over, ruin a fancy suit? That sounds proper."

Buffy looked for a moment like she might laugh, but froze before he got even a chuckle out of her. That disapproving mask settled over her face once more, as if she'd realized who she was talking to.

"No. That's—no," she said shortly, her voice back down to that angry whisper. She frowned to herself and went back to her food.

_Slayer's lonely. _

A strange bitter-sweetness settled in the pit of his stomach, sucking the unneeded air from his lungs as if he'd been winded. That's why she was like this, opening up a bit. She didn't have anyone else to talk to, and he was worse than a last resort. It should have been funny, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh at her for it. Especially not when she was hiding it so well.

How old was she, really? Sixteen, seventeen, maybe? She seemed older than that, except in these little moments. In these she was far too young. Spike frowned and stubbed out his cigarette. He didn't much care for that churning in his belly as he watched the extent of her solitude play out behind her eyes.

It hit too close to home.

"I won't kill him," Spike said, berating himself silently, even as he spoke. He cleared his throat. "I mean, you don't want—"

"No," Buffy said, her jaw set and her eyes hard, "I don't want."

Spike nodded. He was an idiot for even giving her a reminder of what he was, even if it was a stupid joke about some stuffy little school master. She could still turn on him.

Buffy sighed heavily and pushed her plate away from her. She stood and looked down at him through unreadable eyes, and said, "Take me home."

_Still giving the bloody orders. _

Despite that, Spike stood and began to follow her.

Buffy stopped suddenly and he almost walked into her back. She nodded toward the table. "Ahem."

Spike cocked a brow, but looked back to the booth and the empty plates.

"All right. Have it your way," he said and threw a few bills down.

* * *

She'd said yes.

_Oh my God._

Buffy couldn't quite believe it.

Apparently the shock was making her light headed enough to talk to him, tell him things that weren't any of his business, truce or no truce. Was she really so pathetic? Buffy frowned. She wouldn't do it again.

Now, she sat in Spike's parked black Desoto, across the street from her house, her feet curled beneath her and her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn't hungry anymore, but she was still very sore, and tired. It was definitely sleepy time. But first thing was first, and that was dealing with her new, she shuddered as she thought, _partner_.

"So, there have to be rules to this thing," Buffy said.

"Surprise, surprise," Spike muttered.

Buffy went on, staring at him even though he wouldn't make eye contact. "I think the first one's pretty obvious."

Spike blinked and raised an eyebrow, looking inquisitive enough that Buffy had to believe he had no idea what she was talking about.

"The blood thing," she supplied, waiting for it to sink in.

Buffy watched as it dawned over his face; genuine bewilderment replaced slowly by astonishment and then blind fury.

When he spoke, it was a low growl. "You'll have to be more specific."

Buffy turned to him in one swift motion. "You know what I'm talking about, Spike."

"And maybe I bloody well don't!"

"You're not feeding off humans," Buffy said. "If you take even a little sip, this partnership is over and you're dust."

"You're cutting off my food supply here!" Spike said. "Starving me, Slayer!"

"Oh please," Buffy said, "like you couldn't get blood from a butcher or some fancy restaurant supply place." She stopped and tried to look thoughtful. "Or, hey, just stop eating all together. We'll finish this job, you waste away to nothing, and everybody's happy."

"I'm not happy."

"You don't count," Buffy said. "No blood on tap. Figure it out."

Spike's fingers twitched and balled up into tight fists. "How do you know that I won't just drink anyway?"

Buffy stopped. _Hadn't really thought of that._

A smiled bloomed on her lips, a dark and angry sort of smile and she could see his eyes grow more wary. "You know how I'll know, Spike? I'm the Slayer. The _Slayer. _I know more about you than you could ever guess. You think that I don't have my own connections around this town? You think that I won't find out if you take one single bite? Cause I will."

Okay, so she was majorly bluffing, but still. She watched his reaction play over his face. Maybe he was still thinking of Praguey-girl, although with that she'd gotten a bit lucky.

Spike shifted in his seat.

"During the day, you need to find somewhere to stay, somewhere I can find you," Buffy said. "If you aren't there, or a victim is, you'd better hope I don't have a stake on me because you won't even have a chance to run. Nights, you're with me. You get tonight to find a new place and I'm going to think up ways to keep track of you."

Spike's jaw was set in a hard line and for a moment, Buffy thought he was shaking with anger. He surprised her when he nodded. She half expected him to get in one last jab at her, one sarcastic comment, but he didn't complain. He didn't say anything else.

* * *

Buffy closed the garden gate behind her as quietly as she could. She glanced back over her shoulder to see the Desoto parked across the street. The only sign of movement inside was the glow of a flame as Spike lit a cigarette. The light illuminated his features for a moment, making hollows stand out in sharp definition, like a skull. The car rumbled to life and he drove off. Buffy frowned and wondered if she'd made a mistake in trusting him.

_Too late now_, she thought.

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. All Buffy knew was she wanted a hot shower, a good movie, and a soft bed.

_And maybe something chocolate, _she thought to herself, _I was held in a cave with my sort-of mortal enemy, waiting all lamb-to-slaughter, I think I deserve it. _Yeah, chocolate was definitely a must.

Buffy didn't have her key, but she didn't want to knock either. She leaned over and reached behind one large marble vase beside the door. Spare key in hand, she let herself inside.

The house was quiet. Scant light from stars and streetlamps shone through gaps in the curtains and made the inside dimly visible. Buffy didn't hear Ms. Davies up and about as she navigated from the foyer, down the hall, and to the stairwell. She climbed slowly, exhausted and aching to get into bed. Her foot creaked on one wooden step and light from the upstairs hall turned her world yellow.

Buffy gasped and covered her eyes.

"Where have you been?"

Her Watcher stood at the top of the stairs, fully clothed and not a hair out of place. Ms. Davies' arms were crossed, her brows were drawn, and her lips pressed together tightly in an indecipherable expression.

"Miss Summers, I asked you a question," Ms. Davies repeated. "I've been on the phone with the Council for hours now, trying to decide on our best course of action for a missing Slayer. I must call Mr. Travers with a prompt explanation. So, I ask you again, where were you?"

Buffy closed her eyes, exasperated.

"I've been…" she began. She took in Ms. Davies' irritatingly demanding gaze and shook her head, started to climb the stairs once more, and pushed past her. "Someplace that I'd rather talk about tomorrow."

"Miss Summers, I think it wise that you talk about this now," Ms. Davies called behind her.

Buffy stopped and turned. She braced herself for the inevitable spat. "Look, before you lecture, yeah, the fight was a bad idea, I get that now. Bad, bad Buffy," she said disdainfully, unwilling to let go of her resentment. "I got into trouble, but I took care of it. I'm fine now."

"Was it Malum and his followers?" Ms. Davies asked, all cold clinical questions, "or was it Spike?"

Buffy froze, heart hammering away at the mention of his name. She hoped Ms. Davies didn't notice.

"Malum, _only_ Malum," Buffy said. She breathed deeply to calm her nerves and got control of herself. "But I took care of it."

"And your original objective?" Ms. Davies asked. "Did you accomplish your goal, or is Spike still on the loose?"

Her response was automatic. "I didn't find him."

Ms. Davies stared her down, hawkish and observant. Buffy held her gaze, sure that she would blink or give something away with her eyes alone. But after a moment, Ms. Davies just nodded curtly. "I'll need a detailed report to send to England of this incident, and I trust that the full story will be made clear."

"Okay, sure," Buffy said quietly, almost shaking with relief.

"Good night, then, Miss Summers," Ms. Davies said. She turned on her heel to her room and shut the door tight.

_Probably off to make phone calls to the tweed brigade, _Buffy thought.

It didn't matter. Ms. Davies didn't know about Spike, or any of it, and Buffy could finally get some rest.

* * *

Buffy woke to the sound of something hitting glass with a soft tap. She mumbled, but a second small noise was enough to urge her awake. _Stupid Slayer instincts, _Buffy thought, _I was all cozy_. She sighed and rolled over beneath her covers, blinking open her eyes, but unwilling to sit up. Finally sleeping after so long awake and anxious made the fluttering of her eyelids heavy and slow, and the surroundings of her room seemed blurred.

It was still dark, pleasantly so, with the barest amount of light coming through her window. Sunrise would be a while. Buffy could have drifted back to sleep, but instead she reached over and grabbed her alarm clock. Something told her she should be awake for this.

"Three a.m," Buffy said, her voice thick with sleep. She groaned and sat up anyway, pressing the heels of her hands into her drowsy eyes.

Buffy frowned when she opened them. A shadow was cast within the small square of moonlight coming through her window, spreading dark and sharp on the carpet before her bed. Buffy swung her legs out from beneath her covers and grabbed the stake from her bedside table, approaching cautiously.

She stopped and lowered the weapon when she saw what had cast it; something taped to the glass.

Buffy frowned and walked closer. She opened the latch and window, reached out, caught the folded piece of paper just outside. Two small stones had rolled down the slope of the roof beneath her window, the kind that dotted the lawn out front. Someone had thrown them to wake her up. _Spike, _she realized. Buffy wandered back to her bed, turning the paper over in her hands.

_Slayer_ was written in a tidy scrawl on the outside of the folded notebook sheet.

Buffy opened it out, unsure of what to expect.

Inside was an address.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: **Hi, I'm back. Hope no one has given up on me yet, that being said, I'm sorry for the sporadic-ness of my most recent updates. However, my schedule should be evened out soon, and I can get back to my regular posting.

I hope everyone is voting in the Sunnydale Memorial Awards. I'm nominated this round for Best New Author, and my story "Found" has been nominated amid some truly amazing fic *blushes*. So go forth, read, and vote for your favorites! I know I will :)

Betaed by All4Spike

******Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Chapter 20

"You're awake early."

Buffy cursed herself silently as she entered the kitchen, wondering if it was too late to just wander off. At just after six a.m, she'd hoped that maybe Ms. Davies was still in bed. Nope, she was awake and sitting at the breakfast table, a large hardcover book in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other, and wandering time was up.

"I couldn't sleep," Buffy said.

Well that was a big time lie. She could have slept for a year and a day, and it still wouldn't have been enough. But she wanted to check out Spike's place before school and had forced herself up at the crack of dawn, ignoring what rest might do for lingering soreness and yellow bruising, all for the sake of sneakiness. _That did me _tons _of good, _she thought and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl beside the microwave, turning to leave.

"Are you going to school so early?" Ms. Davies asked. She closed her book and let her reading glasses hang from their chain, eyes on Buffy and in total conversation-mode.

_Crap. _

"You know, knowledge calls," Buffy said as casually as she could manage. "I already missed and I don't want that dastardly homework piling up."

Ms. Davies returned to her book, seemingly satisfied, and Buffy struggled to keep up her nonchalance in relief.

"Sounds reasonable, as long as you're back in time for training," Ms. Davies said and flipped a page.

"Yup. So, I guess I'll be going then. I've got all that knowledge to absorb," Buffy said, moving to leave once more. She stopped at the threshold of the hallway and remembered something she actually _wanted_ to ask about. "Did my mom call?"

Ms. Davies didn't look up from her reading. "Yes, she did. Twice, actually."

Buffy bit her lip. "Where did you say that I was?"

"I believe I said that you were staying over at a friend's."

_I guess that's not _too _off-base, if you stand at a distance and squint. _

"Is there a name that comes attached to that lie?" Buffy asked.

Ms. Davies looked up to the ceiling as if remembering. "Nothing supplementary that I can recall."

Buffy nodded her understanding, but a sickly feeling of guilt twisted in her stomach. She was so tired of lying. "Okay, that's good. Vague-ish. I can remember that." She tried to think of something else to add, but came up flat. "I'm gonna go."

She was outside before she could even hear a word of parting from her Watcher.

The early morning air was crisp and cool, soothing against her skin, as Buffy diverted from her usual walk to school to a nearby Victorian-style neighborhood. It was a place that she'd been to patrol before, but she'd never seen it by daylight. The houses here were older, darker, and larger, with tall trees out front just beginning to lose their leaves. It totally made the whole Hellmouth thing seem way more plausible.

_Of course he would pick such a spooky place to crash, _she thought as she drew closer, _Just be the cliché, Spike…_

The tiny neighborhood cemetery that Spike had decided to nest in was out near Lake View's bigger, greener burial ground. This place was somewhere she would have passed by on any given day. She'd only swept it once or twice. It had been closed for years, and vamps didn't frequent it. So it sat, still and peaceful, tucked back amid some of the older homes.

Buffy pushed open the low, creaking gate, and wandered through the short rows of grave markers. High grass and untamed dandelions tickled the bare skin of her knees above her boots. The small mausoleum was tucked in the back amid some weeping willows.

_That has to be it, _Buffy thought. There wasn't anywhere else unflamey around.

Why Spike would pick a religious-type building in which to crash was a mystery to her. The peaceful grey stone monument, flanked by miniature marble angels and a dull stain glass window on either side of the door, did not scream unholy punk vampire.

She paused in front of the large iron door and frowned.

"Do I, like, knock or something?" she wondered aloud.

Did it really matter? Buffy fell on the side of 'no' and slammed the door open. She was greeted by a loud shout and the thump of Spike diving out of the sunlight streaming in from the eastward-facing entrance.

"Oi! What are you trying to do, send me to a flaming death?"

Buffy ignored his protest and shut the heavy door behind her with a dull thud. She glanced around the room and raised her eyebrows. Twin stone coffins sat before a long glass window which had been covered with a black plastic tarp. The windows on either side of the door were similarly covered. Urns lined shelves along one wall, coated in dust and who knew what else, and the cobbled floor was covered in a layer of dirt. The only light in the place came through high windows near the flat roof, casting everything in a grey sheen. They were too high and small to cause him any damage, leaving the room in half-light.

"This is your new place?" Buffy said, giving it another once over. "Cobwebby. But, hey, I've heard that's in this fall season."

Spike stood from where he'd ducked down behind a ratty looking couch with the stuffing bursting at the seams.

He wasn't wearing his duster, just a black t-shirt and jeans tucked into big boots. His hair was a riot of white curls, as if he'd been restlessly running his fingers through it, and his arms were pale and toned in the half-light. _Good toned. _Buffy had never really imagined him without the coat on_. _Spike tensed reflexively at the sight of her, sending those muscles into sharp definition.

She tried not to think about nice flexy vampire arms and looked away, turning her attention to what he'd been hiding behind.

"And what is that?" Buffy asked, gesturing to the shabby furniture and wrinkling her nose. "Please tell me that's some loopy modern art piece."

Spike dusted himself off. "Very funny. Just so happens that these places don't come complete with furniture. I'm making do with what I can get here, Slayer."

"Well, I'll bet it's a hefty deposit anyway. Furnished mausoleums complete with all your furniture needs…" Buffy said offhand, but with enough bite to make him scoff, as she wandered through the grimy room. She could feel his eyes on her back the entire time, making her tingly.

Apparently the couch wasn't the only thing Spike had dragged in during the night. There was a moth-eaten blanket folded at the end of one coffin, and a small white mini-fridge near the urns. Buffy's gaze followed where it hooked up to cord that led through a tiny crack in the stone wall.

She drew closer and opened it up with a creak. Bagged blood lined the bottom shelf. The barcode stickers on them told her that it had been purchased at a butcher's shop downtown with a pig's head for a logo. She stared at it a moment longer, unsure of what to say.

"Did what you said, didn't I?" Spike said from behind her and muttered, "Like a good dog."

Buffy shut the refrigerator and turned to him, unmoved. "Oh, so you didn't murder anybody last night? What, do you want a treat?"

Spike rolled his eyes, but she saw a muscle in his jaw spasm. "Look, you got what you came here for. Not on a killing spree and now I'm all settled down and living domestic, so why don't you skip off to school?"

But Buffy just sat down on one of the stone coffins and dropped her books beside her.

"I'm not really jonesing for a hardcore back-to-school lecture, which I'm bound to have after not showing. It's like the basic procedure at Terminal, lectures for every little thing, and my case is extra-lecturey. When dealing with you is the preferred option, you know I'm serious."

"Yeah, well, too bad. You can't hang around here, Slayer."

"Got a good reason for the kick out?" Buffy asked, meeting his eyes and daring him to force her out.

Spike drew closer.

"It just so happens that I was out all night getting this stuff together and I'm a bit knackered. Didn't get my beauty sleep."

Buffy looked him over with the excuse in mind. _Rumply_, she thought. But it didn't matter what state his hair and clothes were in, or any tiredness that they indicated. She had more important things to talk about. "It looks like you're just gonna have to miss a little more of it, despite the late night scavenge."

Spike's nostrils flared in irritation as he paced just a foot in front of her. He ran one hand over his curls and then held the other in her direction, as if he could gesture more words out of her, but Buffy was unmoved. "It'd be nice to have some kind of explanation when you pull stuff like this, you know."

"Strategy."

Spike sat on the opposite coffin and leaned toward her slightly, head tilted. "You gonna explain that to me, pet?"

"We need to know how we're gonna do this and we need a plan. I mean, that's what you said before, wasn't it? Well, congratulations. You're now on the Island of Incognito. Population; you. And planning starts now."

Spike grinned in a way that made him look half-way impressed, but trying to hide it, like it was a surprise or something. Buffy had to clench her fists to keep from punching him.

"Sounds to me like all sorts of obvious," he said.

"That's because it's all sorts of 'is'," Buffy said, sitting back and staring him down. "Now, we need to kill Malum and you're the one of us who was around him the most. I think it's about time you tell me what you know."

* * *

Spike had to marvel at the humor of it all. The Slayer banging into his home at all hours of the morning, school books in hand, criticizing his house-cleaning, and demanding information. He only felt a twinge of the irritation that had burned within him last night.

Then, he had almost said 'sod it' to her deal and killed the first ninny he saw out and about, just to spite her.

_Didn't though, _he thought, wrinkling his brow. He shrugged it off as best he could, even if it was troubling. Some things were best left unanswered.

"So, the wankers are gonna be picking up some sort of shipment from the airport in just a few days time. Supplier's a Raash'kar demon who's just begging to be killed for his ivory. You know, tusks," Spike said, holding up two fingers beside his jaw dismissively.

"Sounds pretty vital," Buffy said with a slight shiver.

"Yeah, pretty much…"

Spike watched her satiny skin pimple into gooseflesh from the draft. His gaze was drawn to the baby t-shirt she wore, and he smirked. Pores weren't the only thing tightening in the cool air. Slayer didn't wear a bra.

_Perky, _he thought with a barely contained snicker.

Buffy rested her hands on the coffin behind her. That little shirt rode up ever-so-slightly, exposed the barest golden sliver of stomach. Tight muscles and soft skin. Spike swallowed against an unwanted lump in his throat and cocked his head, taking her in. Every bloody inch.

Buffy narrowed her eyes and clapped her hands together, startling him.

"Earth to Spike. You have gone to infinity, beyond, and then some," she said.

His eyes snapped back up to meet hers. "What was that, now?"

"You _zoned_," Buffy said slowly. "Anyway, do you know any more about this shipment thing? A shipment of what?"

"It's anyone's bloody guess what. Last time it was a piddly little box," Spike said with a shrug. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. "All I know is, it's all about you, honey."

A funny little crease appeared between her eyebrows, as if something he'd said bothered her. "So, considering our guy, this is probably a magic-type problem. All hocus and pocus."

Spike touched his index finger to his nose. "Right on the money, Slayer."

Buffy hopped off the coffin and paced before him as she spoke, twisting her hands in front of her with each slow step. "Okay, so this is clearly bad. Bad magic, bad vampires, bad demon. That's a whole lot of badness in the equation."

Spike leaned back against the stone and put an arm behind his head, smoking leisurely as he watched her think. "Tell me something I don't know, Slayer."

"Way I see it, we've got only one solution. Storm them, take the—whatever they have, and get rid of it," Buffy said. "Of course, we'll have to figure out _how_ to do the rid getting…"

"Chuck it in the lake."

Buffy gave him her most judgmental stare, lighting a low angry flame in his chest. "I think we can come up with something better than potentially cursing the water supply."

Spike shrugged it off. "Fine, fine. Be the hero of the people."

"It's called doing the right thing," Buffy said, a slow burn of fury working its way from her clenched fists to her eyes, "you should look into it."

Spike lay back on the stone and tucked an arm behind his head, pleased that he could invoke such a strong reaction, however furious. "Yeah, well, I'm a bit busy not caring very much."

"Of course," Buffy said, clearly unamused. "I don't know why I thought—"

_You ever would, _Spike finished for her internally.

When he turned to look at her, Buffy was glaring. "Have I mentioned how much I hate you yet today?"

"Hasn't come up yet, but I'm supposing that counts."

"Yeah, you bet it does," she mumbled.

"Don't you have a principal to appease?" Spike said, sick of having her there, making his blood boil. "Maybe you should sod off."

"Maybe." The look she shot him was pure loathing. Spike focused all the energy he had into not ripping her throat out, as she gathered her books from where they lay on the coffin and headed for the door.

Buffy paused before leaving. "I'll be back later. Maybe. Just, stay here, and try not to do anything…evil."

And with a slam of the door, she was gone.

Spike lay back on his dumpster-dive couch, trying to get comfortable, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. _Bloody lumpy, _Spike thought, shifting his shoulders. He folded his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes before taking a long drag of his fag.

_Should invest in a telly, _he thought.

Maybe he could liberate one with a nice big screen from one of his new neighbors.

But he shouldn't be worrying about things like that. He should be up and about, doing bad evil things, yet here he was, playing like some kind of housebroken lapdog, and to the Slayer no less.

Spike opened his eyes to stare at the stone ceiling. God she brassed him off. Every little thing she did had him reeling. _Bloody thorn in my bloody side_. If he had a pulse, it would be sky-rocketing right about now. He growled low in his throat and sat up, punching the couch cushions in barely contained frustration, trying to get comfortable.

God, he was so bleeding bored.

"Don't do anything evil," Spike mocked with a derisive snort.

He was doing evil right now, wasn't he? Existing and all that? Unholy by definition. Not to mention all the second hand smoke he was spewing up into the atmosphere. That had to count for something.

Spike stubbed out his cigarette on the worn upholstery and lit another.

_Slayer thinks she's got me under control, _he thought, _far bloody from._

* * *

Buffy did not have this under control.

Sitting in the bad kids chair and waiting for Principal Williams to come back in from his coffee break was bad enough, but not knowing what kind of excuse she was going to give was even worse. _Or what punishments might be doled out, _Buffy thought, _and I'm expecting some doling. _

_I have a stressy-headache, _she thought with a frustrated whimper and glanced up to the clock above his desk.

"I'm going to be late to class," Buffy whispered aloud in realization. Irritation buzzed around inside her and her mouth dropped open at the injustice of it all. "Can I not _win_ at this school thing?"

Buffy kicked out one frustrated booted foot. It collided with Principal Williams' wooden desk, and spilled some water from his fountain over the edge, sending it dripping down onto a power strip. A sharp electric buzz filled the room and Buffy thought for sure she was in some sort of literal shock. She had to be if something like this was happening.

But no, it wasn't her. Just her Principal's computer.

Buffy's eyes grew huge as the fountain stopped bubbling. She peered over the desk. The monitor was sleeping, but it didn't wake up, no matter how swirly she made the mouse on the mouse-pad.

"Oh, that's not good," Buffy whispered. She sat back in her chair and glared up at the ceiling tiles.

_As to the winning, apparently not, _her mind answered for her, and promptly handed her a participation medal.

"Miss Summers."

Buffy jumped at the sound of Principal Williams' voice. He walked over carefully, a steaming styrofoam cup in hand, already looking tired and displeased so early in the morning.

He paused and tilted his head with a sniff, frowning. "Is something burning?"

Buffy gave him what she hoped was an innocent smile, but it was already dawning on him.

_And this __should make my day complete. _

Too bad that it wasn't even close to over.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If all goes well, my next update should be a lot sooner. Thanks so much for reading!


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